Music for French Horn
Stephen Hill
O Captain! My Captain!
(Poem by Walt Whitman)
French Horn (unaccompanied)
SARAHTIM Music Publishing
O Captain! My Captain! (Walt Whitman)
French Horn (Unaccompanied) / ca. 6:00 / 2007 / Solemnly q=60
Program Notes
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Composed in 2007, O Captain! My Captain!, was written at the request of Peter Alexander (Alexander Publishing) and is part of a larger project of Solo Compositions written for each major instrument of the Orchestra: Flute, Oboe, Clarinet, Bassoon, Horn in F, Trumpet, Trombone, Tuba, Violin, Viola, Cello and Double Bass. The project consisted of composing music for specific poems chosen by Peter that he felt reflected the character of each instrument. For the Solo Trumpet, the poem assigned was O Captain! My Captain!, by Walt Whitman.
O Captain! My Captain!
by Walt Whitman
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Stephen Hill
Scenes from West
Yellowstone Suite
French Horn and Piano
SARAHTIM Music Publishing
Scenes from West Yellowstone Suite
French Horn and Piano / ca. 9:20 / 2017 / Six Movements
Program Notes
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Scenes from West Yellowstone was composed between June 10-12, 2017, while on a solo fly fishing and camping trip at Indian Creek Campground, West Yellowstone, Wyoming. This work was composed to be playable by each of the instruments of the Band and Orchestral families. The solo melodic material uses only the notes of a one-octave major scale, yet each movement intentionally increases in technical demands of the player. Each movement is reflective of actual encounters while on vacation in Yellowstone Park.
1st mvt. - Meadows along the Madison
(Walking through the meadows on the way down to fly fish along the banks of the Madison River)
2nd mvt. - Prairie Dogs
(Watching two prairie dogs scurrying nearby while fly fishing)
3rd mvt. - Snowfall at Indian Creek
(Yes, it actually snowed on me in the campground in June)
4th mvt. - Birds in the Meadow
(Watching the birds flitting about me as they suddenly turned about in all directions)
5th mvt. - A Deer in the Rain
(Watching the deer quietly walking near the river in a gentle rain)
6th mvt. - Fly Fishing for Browns on the Madison
(Casting the line back and forth, watching the “fly” gently land on the top of the water, t
hen the sudden splash of the beautiful brown trout as it takes the fly.)
Stephen Hill
Psalm 1
French Horn (Unaccompanied)
SARAHTIM Music Publishing
Psalm 1
French Horn (Unaccompanied) / ca. 3:20
Program Notes
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Composed in 2007, Psalm 1, was written at the request of Peter Alexander (Alexander Publishing) and is part of a larger project of Solo Compositions written for each major instrument of the Orchestra: Flute, Oboe, Clarinet, Bassoon, Horn in F, Trumpet, Trombone, Tuba, Violin, Viola, Cello and Double Bass. The project consisted of composing music for specific poems chosen by Peter that he felt reflected the character of each instrument. For the Solo French Horn, the poem assigned was Psalm 1, by Robert Burns.
Paraphrase Of The First Psalm
by Robert Burns
The man, in life wherever plac’d,
Hath happiness in store,
Who walks not in the wicked’s way,
Nor learns their guilty lore!
Nor from the seat of scornful pride
Casts forth his eyes abroad,
But with humility and awe
Still walks before his God.
That man shall flourish like the trees,
Which by the streamlets grow;
The fruitful top is spread on high,
And firm the root below.
But he whose blossom buds in guilt
Shall to the ground be cast,
And, like the rootless stubble, tost
Before the sweeping blast.
For why? that God the good adore,
hath giv’n them peace and rest,
But hath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne’er be truly blest.