Best known for his lasting contribution to Anglican church music, Armagh-born Charles Wood (1866-1926) was among the initial intake of pupils to the Royal College of Music (where his teachers included Stanford and Parry), and no fewer than 14 premiere recordings adorn this sympathetic exploration of his secular songs courtesy of those enterprising folk at Delphian.

Among the handful of student offerings presented here, the red-blooded treatment of Thomas Moore’s ‘At the mid hour of night’ as well as two Tennyson settings (‘Ask me no more’ and ‘Fortune and her Wheel’) already reveal a precocious gift. Supremely touching, too, is ‘Shall I forget’, one of three settings of Christina Rossetti from 1887, and which, like a fair few items on this collection, languished in manuscript until after the composer’s death. It’s followed by the pungently dramatic ‘The Outlaw of Loch Lene’, translated from the original Irish by the tragically short-lived Cork-born poet Jeremiah Joseph Callanan (1795-1829). Like so many of his contemporaries, Wood fell under the spell of Walt Whitman, and both the almost operatic ‘By the bivouac’s fitful flame’ and stirring ‘Ethiopia Saluting the Colours’ demand – and certainly repay – repeated hearings (the latter was also championed by that notable baritone of the day, Harry Plunket Greene). ‘Darest thou now, O soul’ predates those more familiar settings from the likes of Vaughan Williams, Stanford and Holst and boasts some deeply sincere invention – as, for that matter, does ‘O Captain! my Captain!’ (Whitman’s elegy in response to the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln).

Wood’s love for the folk song of his native land shines through in his arrangements of melodies published by Boosey in 1897 under the title of Irish Folk Songs featuring words by the Anglo-Irish poet Alfred Perceval Graves (1846-1931). We hear seven numbers in all, of which the nostalgic glow of ‘The Blackberry Blossom’, ardent ‘I’d roam the world over with you’ and narrative thrust of ‘Credhe’s Lament for Cail’ quarry an especially rich vein of inspiration. We’re also treated to four items from Songs of the Glens of Antrim to texts by Moira O’Neill (1864-1955), two of which – the tenderly affecting ‘Denny’s Daughter’ and keenly evocative ‘At Sea’ – were also set by Stanford. Last but not least, a pair of canons for two voices and piano add variety to the mix: ‘The Ride of the Witch’ and ‘To Music’ (settings, both, of Robert Herrick) were designed to be sung by children and adults alike, while genially demonstrating Wood’s mastery of counterpoint.

I’m happy to report that this attractive repertoire enjoys strongly characterful, unstintingly dedicated advocacy from Carolyn Dobbin and Roderick Williams, who in turn benefit from Iain Burnside’s customarily poised and insightful support. What’s more, Paul Baxter’s truthfully balanced recording has an enticing bloom to it, and Delphian’s presentation is exemplary. A delightful survey.