Something about English-speaking countries gives them musical inferiority complexes. Intimidated by the likes of Mozart, Beethoven and Brahms, our classical-music establishments and audiences seem to assume that all things good and great come from the European continent. Both Brits and Americans seem almost apologetic for their native musical heritages.

Even Ralph Vaughan Williams, though vaguely revered as a kindly old uncle figure in his native England, doesn't show up as much as you'd expect on British concert programs. A prolific composer during a very long life (1872-1958), he's rarely represented this side of the Atlantic by much beyond his Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis.

But a new 30-CD boxed set, marking the 50th anniversary of Vaughan Williams' death (this past Tuesday), reminds us of the astonishing breadth and quality of the RVW oeuvre.

Contents include the nine symphonies, of course, but also the virtually unknown operas Hugh the Drover, Sir John in Love and The Pilgrim's Progress. There's a large complement of choral music and songs, as well as the small output of chamber music.

Vaughan Williams represented an artistic phenomenon that, 50 years later, seems unimaginably quaint: the classical composer as a national personality, one who wrapped a national identity into music created for wide publics. He collected and arranged English folk songs and filled much of his music with their spirit. He composed as readily for the harmonica virtuoso Larry Adler as for church choirs and brass bands.

Of course, even during Vaughan Williams' lifetime, as confrontation became increasingly the language of high art, his devotion to useful, public music became increasingly suspect.

The classical composer as public eminence and, largely, the ideal of musical nationalism really died with the next generation, including England's Benjamin Britten, America's Aaron Copland and Russia's Dmitri Shostakovich.

In the age of the self-consciously avant-garde, it didn't help that Vaughan Williams belonged to the same generation as Richard Strauss and Sergei Rachmaninoff, other composers tainted with the stain of late romanticism.

I won't pretend that I've listened to all 30 discs in EMI's new Collector's Edition of RVW, all recycled from earlier releases. And some of the music (the heavy-handed Dona nobis pacem, the clunky Piano Concerto, even the too-obvious London Symphony) doesn't speak to me. The absence of librettos in a CD booklet that merely lists pieces and performers keeps the operas at arms length. I should give them a try, but this isn't the way to do it.

But what a lot of wonderful music is here: the exquisite exoticism of Flos campi (a suite of tone poems for viola and strings inspired by erotic lines from the Song of Songs), the haunting nostalgia of An Oxford Elegy (poetry by Matthew Arnold, for speaker, chorus and orchestra), the Mass in G minor's sublime impressionist take on renaissance polyphony.

The symphonies, of course, are marvelously varied, from the grandiose Sea Symphony (taking up where Elgar's oratorios leave off) to the gently pastoral Third and Fifth to the turbulent Fourth and Sixth. The astonishing Eighth and Ninth symphonies, products of Vaughan Williams' 80s, are as fresh and surprising as anything penned by a twentysomething.

Who could resist the Tuba Concerto, by turns surprisingly nimble and surprisingly lyrical? Why are the lovely Violin Sonata, Phantasy Quintet and two string quartets unheard in our concert halls? The CD set also includes a good representation of Vaughan Williams' art songs – he composed lovely ones – and folk-song arrangements.

The symphonies are represented here in the 1990s cycle from Vernon Handley and the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic rather than the earlier and better-known Adrian Boult survey. Mr. Handley brings more urgency to the performances, but sonics aren't ideally transparent. The late Sir Adrian is well-represented elsewhere, though, along with Sir John Barbirolli, Sir David Willcocks and Richard Hickox.

Surprisingly, the Tallis Fantasia is presented not in the landmark Barbirolli recording, but in a Constantin Silvestri/Bournemouth Symphony account. The latter is passionate and warmly shaped, but lacks something of Barbirolli's nobility. But it's good to have Boult's 1969 Serenade to Music, with Shakespeare's magical words sung by a dream lineup of 16 solo singers.

Given that most of this music will be terra incognita to American listeners, it's a shame EMI couldn't supply at least minimal program notes. But it's a big bundle of music for less than $2 per disc, and a lot of it is really fine.

Vaughan Williams

The Collector's Edition

(EMI Classics, 30 CDs)