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Sweet Auburn

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Sweet Auburn
Early in my research I stumbled upon a Boston area newspaper article written after Consecration Day, in 1831. The article explained that, in the late 18th century, prior to being known as Mount Auburn, the area had been affectionately referred to by visiting Harvard students as “Sweet Auburn.” The nickname coming from the poem, “The Deserted Village”, by Oliver Goldsmith. Almost immediately, I knew that one of the songs I would write would be entitled Sweet Auburn.

For songwriters, a good title can often provide a creative launching pad, allowing one to visualize a fledgling song as a completed whole. Not word for word, of course, but conceptually and directionally. I thought to myself, what if this beautiful place could tell us a bit of its own story? What would it want us to know? What would it say? This idea provided me with a clear framework to work within as I wrote my own version of Sweet Auburn.

Treating Mount Auburn as a living, breathing, sentient character allowed me to look at the landscape and its history in a more empathetic and personal way. Over the course of a few verses I could treat the love and respect, felt by so many for Mount Auburn, as a two way street. Doing so opened creative avenues that would have been harder to access had I taken a different tack. I’d never before taken this approach in my writing. I thoroughly enjoyed the process.

Lyrics

Sweet Auburn
Music and Lyrics: T.Thibaud

Under blue September skies
In the Dell their voices rise
2,000 souls resound
With a song of hope unbound

I was born of ice and sand
Sculpted by God’s hand
For this moment it would seem
Ten thousand years I dreamed

Sweet Auburn, they call to me
Hearts broken, they come to me
Arms open, I will comfort thee
‘till dust is dust no more

For the hero and the mild
For the poet and the child
All found peace within these hills
Where their angels guard them still

Sweet Auburn, they call to me
Hearts broken, they come to me
Arms open, I will comfort thee
‘till dust is dust no more

A thrush on Creeley’s stone
Sings her morning song alone
Beneath these breathing trees
For the fallen and the free

And for every wandering soul
There is beauty to behold
I am waiting here for you
Any winding path will do

Sweet Auburn, they call to me
Hearts broken, they come to me
Arms open, I will comfort thee
‘till dust is dust no more
Arms open, I will comfort thee
‘till dust is dust no more
‘till dust is dust no more