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Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.
Hyperion offers both CDs, and downloads in a number of formats. The site is also available in several languages.
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After leaving university, I taught English for a while, and it was a particular joy to bring Hardy’s novels alive to my students. His descriptions of rural life are second to none, and I am sure that reading aloud long passages of his prose is one of the things which awakened the creative spirit within me. The darkling thrush is a beautiful poem, full of wonderful imagery describing the coldest of winters. Winter is my favourite season; and these words conjure up all that is stark and beautiful about a frost-hardened landscape. The thrush warms the poet’s heart and seems to sing of a Hope beyond his knowing.
I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-grey, And Winter’s dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangle bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be The Century’s corpse outleant, His crypt the cloudy canopy, The wind his death-lament. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry, And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited; An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carollings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.