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Arne: Artaxerxes (English Orpheus Vol 33) /Robson · Partridge · Spence · Edgar-Wilson · Bott · Hyde · Parley of Instruments · Goodman by Thomas Arne

  • Artist:Thomas Arne
  • Media:Audio CD
  • Label: Hyperion
  • Released: 01 January 1996
  • Barcode: 0034571170510
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    • Overture: Poco piu che andante - Larghetto - Gavotta
    • Still silence reigns around
    • Fair Aurora, pr'ythee stay
    • Alas, thou know'st that for my Love of thee
    • Adieu, thou lovely Youth
    • O cruel parting!
    • Amid a thousand racking Woes
    • Be firm my Heart
    • Behold, on Lethe's dismal Strand
    • Stay, Artaxerxes, stay
    • Fair Semira, lovely Maid
    • I fear some dread Disaster
    • When real Joys we miss
    • Ye Gods, Protectors of the Persian Empire
    • How hard is the Fate
    • Where do I fly?
    • Thy Father! away, I renounce the soft Claim
    • Ye cruel Gods, what Crime have I committed?
    • Acquit thee of this foul Offence
    • Appearance, I must own, is strong against me
    • O too lovely, too unkind
    • Dear and beloved Shade of my dead Father
    • Fly, soft Ideas, fly
    • Guards, speed ye to the Tower
    • In Infancy, our Hopes and Fears
    • So far my great Resolve succeeds
    • Disdainful you fly me
    • Why, my dear Friend, so pensive, so inactive?
    • To sigh and complain
    • How many Links to dire Misfortune's Chain!
    • If o'er the cruel Tyrant Love
    • Which fatal Evil shall I first oppose?
    • If the River's swelling Waves
    • Ye solid Pillars of the Persian Empire
    • By that belov'd Embrace
    • Ah me! at poor Arbaces parting
    • Monster, away!
    • See, lov'd Semira!
    • Thou, like the glorius Sun
    • Why is Death for ever late
    • Arbaces!
    • Water parted from the Sea
    • That Front, secure in conscious Innocence
    • Tho' oft a Cloud, with envious Shade
    • My Son, Arbaces - where art thou retir'd? -
    • O let the Danger of a Son
    • Ye adverse Gods!
    • O, much lov'd Son, if Death
    • Perhaps the King releas'd Arbaces
    • Let not Rage thy Bosom firing
    • What have I done! alas, I vainly thought
    • 'Tis not true, that in our Grief
    • Nor here my searching Eyes can find Mandane
    • For thee I live, my Dearest
    • To you my People, much belov'd, I offer
    • The Soldier, tir'd of War's Alarms
    • Behold my King, Arbaces at thy Feet
    • Live to us, to Empire live

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