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Huit chants britanniques et américains
Song Cycle by Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich (1906 - 1975)
View original-language texts alone: Eight British and American Folk Songs
Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly;
blow the wind south o'er the bonny blue sea.
Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly;
blow, bonny breeze, my lover to me.
They told me last night there were ships in the offing
and I hurried down to the deep rolling sea.
But my eye could not see it, wherever might be it,
the barque that is bearing my lover to me.
[ ... ]
Authorship:
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Que le vent souffle du sud", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Que le vent souffle du sud, du sud, du sud ;
Que le vent du sud souffle sur la jolie mer bleue.
Que le vent souffle du sud, du sud, du sud ;
Souffle, jolie brise, mon amour vers moi.
Ils m'ont dit, la nuit dernière, qu'il y avait des bateaux au large
Et j'ai couru en bas jusqu'à la mer profonde qui roule.
Mais mon œil ne pouvait pas la voir, où qu'elle pût être,
La barque qui porte mon amour vers moi.
[ ... ]
Authorship:
- Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2015 by Guy Laffaille, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English from Volkslieder (Folksongs)
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This text was added to the website: 2015-08-27
Line count: 16
Word count: 167
John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo! John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither, And mony a cantie day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo!
Authorship:
- by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "John Anderson, my jo"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CZE Czech (Čeština) (Josef Václav Sládek) , "Jan Andersen"
- FIN Finnish (Suomi) (Valter Juva) , "John Anderson"
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "John Anderson, mon chéri", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- HUN Hungarian (Magyar) (József Lévay) , "John Anderson"
- POL Polish (Polski) (Jan Kasprowicz) , "Dżon Anderson, ty mój!", Warsaw, first published 1907
- RUS Russian (Русский) (Mikhail Larionovich Mikhailov) , no title, first published 1856
Researcher for this page: Pierre Mathé [Guest Editor]
John Anderson, mon chéri, John, Quand nous avons fait connaissance Tes boucles étaient comme le corbeau, Ton joli front était lisse ; Mais à présent ton front est chauve, John, Tes boucles sont comme la neige, Mais que soit béni ton crâne gelé, John Anderson, mon chéri ! John Anderson, mon chéri, John, Nous avons gravi la colline ensemble, Et bien des jours heureux Avons passés l'un avec l'autre ; À présent il faut la descendre en chancelant, John, Mais nous irons main dans la main, Et dormirons ensemble à son pied, John Anderson, mon chéri !
Authorship:
- Translation from Scottish (Scots) to French (Français) copyright © 2014 by Pierre Mathé, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in Scottish (Scots) by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "John Anderson, my jo"
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This text was added to the website: 2014-09-22
Line count: 16
Word count: 97
Oh, where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy? Oh, where have you been, Charming Billy? I have been to seek a wife, She's the joy of my life, She's a young thing And cannot leave her mother. Did she ask you to come in, Billy Boy, Billy Boy? Did she ask you to come in, Charming Billy? Yes, she asked me to come in, There's a dimple in her chin. She's a young thing And cannot leave her mother. Can she make a cherry pie, Billy Boy, Billy Boy? Can she make a cherry pie, Charming Billy? She can make a cherry pie, Quick as a cat can wink an eye, She's a young thing And cannot leave her mother. How old is she, Billy Boy, Billy Boy? How old is she, Charming Billy? Three times six and four times seven, Twenty-eight and eleven, She's a young thing And cannot leave her mother.
Authorship:
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Billy Boy", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Oh, où es-tu allé, Billy Boy, Billy Boy ? Oh, où es-tu allé, Charmant Billy ? Je suis allé chercher une femme, Elle est la joie de ma vie, C'est une jeune chose, Et ne peut pas quitter sa mère. A-t-elle demandé à venir, Billy Boy, Billy Boy ? A-t-elle demandé à venir, Charmant Billy ? Oui, elle m'a demandé à venir, Il y a une fossette sur son menton. C'est une jeune chose, Et ne peut pas quitter sa mère. Sait-elle faire un gâteau à la cerise, Billy Boy, Billy Boy ? Sait-elle faire un gâteau à la cerise, Charmant Billy ? Elle sait faire un gâteau à la cerise Aussi vit qu'un chat cligne de l'œil, C'est une jeune chose, Et ne peut pas quitter sa mère. Quel âge a-t-elle, Billy Boy, Billy Boy ? Quel âge a-t-elle, Charmant Billy ? Trois fois six et quatre fois sept, Vingt-huit et onze, C'est une jeune chose, Et ne peut pas quitter sa mère.
Authorship:
- Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2015 by Guy Laffaille, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English from Volkslieder (Folksongs)
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This text was added to the website: 2015-08-27
Line count: 32
Word count: 164
A North Country maid up to London had strayed Although with her nature it did not agree, Which made her repent, and so bitterly lament, Oh I wish again for the North Country. Oh the oak and the ash and the bonnie ivy tree, They flourish at home in my own country. O fain would I be in the North Country, Where the lads and lasses are making of hay; There should I see what is pleasant to me, A mischief light on them entic'd me away! Oh the oak and the ash, etc. I like not the court, nor the city resort, Since there is no fancy for such maids as me; Their pomp and their pride I can never abide, Because with my humor it does not agree. Oh the oak and the ash, etc. How oft have I been in Westmoreland green, Where the young men and maidens resort for to play, Where we with delight, from morning till night, Could feast and frolic on each holiday. Oh the oak and the ash, etc. The ewes and their lambs, with the kids and their dams, To see in the country how finely they play; The bells they do ring, and birds they do sing, And the fields and the gardens are pleasant and gay. Oh the oak and the ash, etc. At wakes and at fairs, being freed of all cares, We there with our lovers did use for to dance; Then hard hap had I, my ill fortune to try, And so up to London, my steps to advance. Oh the oak and the ash, etc. But still I perceive, I a husband might have, If I to the city my mind could but frame; But I'll have a lad that is North Country bred, Or else I'll not marry, in the mind that I am. Oh the oak and the ash, etc. A maiden I am, and a maid I'll remain, Until my own country I again I do see, From here in this place I shall ne'er see the face Of him that's allotted my love for to be. Oh the oak and the ash, etc. Then farewell my daddy, and farewell my mammy, Until I do se you, I nothing but mourn; Rememb'ring my brothers, my sisters, and others, In less than a year I hope to return. Oh the oak and the ash, etc.
Authorship:
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Oh! Le chêne et la cendre", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Une jeune fille du Nord s'était égarée jusqu'à Londres Bien que cela n'alla pas avec sa nature, Ce qui la faisait se lamenter, et si amèrement se lamenter, Oh, je souhaite encore le Nord. Oh, le chêne et la cendre et le joli lierre, Ils fleurissent à la maison dans mon pays. Oh, je voudrais bien être dans le Nord, Où les garçons et les filles sont en train de faire les foins ; Là je verrais ce qui m'est agréable, Une lumière malicieuse sur eux m'a ensorcelée au loin ! Oh, le chêne et la cendre, etc. Je n'aime pas la cour, ni la ville, Car il n'y a aucune fantaisie pour des filles comme moi ; Leur pompe et leur fierté, je ne peux jamais les supporter, Parce qu'elles ne s'accordent pas avec mon humeur. Oh, le chêne et la cendre, etc. Combien j'ai été souvent dans la campagne du Westmoreland, Où les jeunes hommes et les jeunes filles viennent pour s'amuser, Où avec délice, du matin jusqu'à la nuit, nous Pouvions festoyer et batifoler à chaque vacance, Oh, le chêne et la cendre, etc. Les brebis et leurs agneaux, avec les enfants et leurs barrages, Les voir dans la campagne comment ils jouaient bien ; Les cloches, elles sonnent, et les oiseaux, ils chantent, Et les champs et les jardins sont agréables et joyeux. Oh, le chêne et la cendre, etc. Aux congés et aux foires, étant libre de tout souci, Là avec nos amoureux nous avions l'habitude de danser ; Ensuite j'ai eu une chance difficile, ma fortune Et ainsi de suite jusqu'à Londres, mes pas pour avancer, Oh, le chêne et la cendre, etc. Mais encore je perçois, je pourrais avoir un mari, Si je ne pouvais qu'enfermer mon esprit dans la cité ; Mais j'aurai un garçon qui a été élevé dans le Nord, Ou sinon je ne me marierai pas, dans l'esprit où je suis. Oh, le chêne et la cendre, etc. Une jeune fille je suis et une jeune fille je resterai, Jusqu'à ce que je vois à nouveau mon pays, D'ici à cet endroit je ne vois jamais le visage De celui à qui mon amour est destiné. Oh, le chêne et la cendre, etc. Alors adieu mon papa, et adieu ma maman, Jusqu'à je vous vois, je ne vais que gémir ; Me rappelant mes frères, mes sœurs et les autres, Dans moins d'un an j'espère revenir. Oh, le chêne et la cendre, etc.
Authorship:
- Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2015 by Guy Laffaille, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English from Volkslieder (Folksongs)
Go to the single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2015-08-27
Line count: 46
Word count: 414
In good King Arthur's days, He was a merry king, [He turned three servants out of doors]1 Because they wouldn't sing. The first he was a miller, [The]2 second he was a weaver [The]2 third he was a little tailor; Three thieving rogues together. The miller he stole corn, [The]2 weaver he stole yarn, [The]2 little tailor he stole broadcloth [To]3 keep these three rogues warm. The miller [was]4 drowned in his dam, [The]2 weaver [was hanged in his farm]5, [The]2 devil [ran off with the little tailor With his]6 broadcloth under his arm.
Authorship:
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Les domestiques du roi Arthur", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Confirmed with Mother Goose's Nursery Rhymes, ed. by L. Edna Walter, illustrated by Charles Folkard, London: A. & C. Black, 1922, page 137.
1 Shostakovich: "He threw three servants out of his house"2 Shostakovich: "And the"
3 Shostakovich: "For to"
4 Shostakovich: "he"
5 Banks: "was hanged in his yarn"; Shostakovich: "he hung on his yarn"
6 Shostakovich: "put his foot on the little tailor/ With the"
Researcher for this page: Martin Jahn
Du temps du bon roi Arthur. C'était un roi joyeux, Il jeta trois domestiques hors de sa maison Parce qu'ils ne voulaient pas chanter. Le premier était meunier, Et le second, il était tisserand, Et le troisième, c'était un petit tailleur, Trois fripons voleurs ensemble. Le meunier, il volait du grain, Et le tisserand il volait du fil, Et le petit tailleur il volait de la toile, Pour garder ces trois fripons au chaud. Le meunier se noya dans son barrage, Et le tisserand il se pendit à son fil, Et le diable posa son pied sur le petit tailleur Avec la toile sous son bras.
Authorship:
- Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2015 by Guy Laffaille, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English from Volkslieder (Folksongs)
Go to the single-text view
Note: this is a translation of Shostakovich's version.
This text was added to the website: 2015-08-27
Line count: 16
Word count: 106
Chorus. O Jenny is all wet, poor body, Jenny is seldom dry: She draggled all her petticoats, Coming through the rye! Coming through the rye, poor body, Coming through the rye, She draggled all her petticoats, Coming through the rye! Should a body meet a body Coming through the rye, Should a body kiss a body, Need a body cry? Should a body meet a body Coming through the glen, Should a body kiss a body, Need the world know? Should a body meet a body Coming through the grain, Should a body kiss a body, The thing is a body's own.
The text shown is a variant of another text. [ View differences ]
It is based on
- a text in Scottish (Scots) by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "Comin thro' the rye"
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]Come lasses and lads, get leave of your dads And away to the maypole hie For every fair has a sweetheart there And the fiddler's standing by For Willy shall dance with Jane And Johnny has got his Joan To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it Trip it up and down. "You're out!" says Dick. "Not I!" says Nick "'Twas the fiddler played it wrong." "'Tis true!" says Hugh, and so says Sue And so says everyone. The fiddler then began To play the tune again And every girl did trip, trip it, trip it to the men. "Goodnight!" says Harry. "Goodnight!" says Mary "Goodnight!" says Paul to John "Goodnight!" says Sue to her sweetheart, Hugh "Goodnight!" says everyone. Some walked and some did run Some loitered on the way And bound themselves, by kisses twelve, to meet the next holiday.
Authorship:
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Researcher for this page: Martin JahnWhen Johnny comes marching home again, Hurrah! Hurrah! We'll give him a hearty welcome then Hurrah! Hurrah! The men will cheer and the boys will shout The ladies they will all turn out And we'll all feel gay, When Johnny comes marching home. The old church bell will peal with joy Hurrah! Hurrah! To welcome home our darling boy Hurrah! Hurrah! The village lads and lassies say With roses they will strew the way, And we'll all feel gay When Johnny comes marching home. Get ready for the Jubilee, Hurrah! Hurrah! We'll give the hero three times three, Hurrah! Hurrah! The laurel wreath is ready now To place upon his loyal brow And we'll all feel gay When Johnny comes marching home. Let love and friendship on that day, Hurrah, hurrah! Their choicest pleasures then display, Hurrah, hurrah! And let each one perform some part, To fill with joy the warrior's heart, And we'll all feel gay when Johnny comes marching home.
Authorship:
- by Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore (1829 - 1892), as Louis Lambert
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]