O Let the Night, WoO 155 nr. 7, Original version Hess 204 (mp3)

Oh Let the Night my Blushes Hide (1809), Hess 204 (Three variant settings). These are three initial attempts at the setting of this song, which ended up as WoO 155 (25 Welsh songs), Nr. 7. Strictly speaking, only the variant with the abandoned coda falls under Hess 204, but Hess in his Supplements gives all three versions. This seemed like the most appropriate place to put the other two variants, both of which are more substantial than the variant coda.

The first of these variants is actually the most authentic version, since the version printed by Thomson and in the Collected Works omits nine bars and adds one. Beethoven wrote out in full a repeat of the first verse, with a different accompaniment each time. The first one of these was deleted. According to Dr. Barry Cooper, these amendments were evidently made by Thomson to accommodate William Smyth's text. The second variant exists only in a piano part for the last half of the song; we have here appended it onto the first variant so far as it is not inconsistent. The third variant is just a different (and much weaker) coda to the piano variant. In the Hess Catalog, this coda is mistakenly attributed to WoO 155 Nr. 11, Merch Megan, which is sketched immediately before this coda. Hess acknowledged this error in the Revisionsbericht of his Supplement, vol. XIV.

O Let the Night my blushes hide

Oh let the night my blushes hide,
While thus my sighs reveal,
What modest love and maiden pride 
Forever would conceal.
Oh let the night my blushes hide,
While thus my sighs reveal,
What modest love and maiden pride 
Forever would conceal.
What can he mean, how can he bear, 
Thus falt'ring to delay;
How can his eyes, his eyes so much declare,
His tongue so little say, his tongue so little say?

Our parents old, --for so I guess,
His thoughtful mind alarm;
A thousand spectres of distress,--
The ruined crops and farm!
Our parents old, --for so I guess,
His thoughtful mind alarm;
A thousand spectres of distress,--
The ruined crops and farm!
But must we wait till age and care
Shall fix our wedding day;
How can his eyes so much declare,
His tongue so little say?

The times are hard,--an odious word,
I'm wearied with the sound,--
A cuckoo note, for ever heard 
Since first the sun went round,
The times are hard,--an odious word,
I'm wearied with the sound,--
A cuckoo note, for ever heard 
Since first the sun went round,
Well pleas'd a happier mind I bear,
A heart for ever gay;
How can his eyes so much declare,
His tongue so little say?

What recks it that the times are hard,
Try fortune, and be blest--
Set Hope still cheer and Honour guard,
And Love will do the rest.
What recks it that the times are hard,
Try fortune, and be blest--
Set Hope still cheer and Honour guard,
And Love will do the rest.
Far better load the heart with care,
Than waste it with delay;
How can his eyes so much declare,
His tongue so little say?

              --William Smyth

Hess: 204

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