by
Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green...
Language: English
Available translation(s): FRE
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
Now gay with the broad setting sun!
Farewell! love and friendship, ye dear tender ties –
Our race of existence is run !
Thou grim King of Terrors, thou Life's gloomy foe,
Go frighten the coward and slave !
Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant, but know,
No terrors hast thou to the brave.
Thou strik'st the poor peasant – he sinks in the dark,
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name !
Thou strik'st the young hero -- a glorious mark,
He falls in the blaze of his fame.
In the field of proud honour, our swords in our hands,
Our king and our country to save,
While victory shines on Life's last ebbing sands,
O, who would not die with the brave ?
About the headline (FAQ)
Confirmed with
The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Burns, Cambridge edition, Boston and New York, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1897, page 246.
Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , title 1: "Le chant de mort", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Ferdinando Albeggiani
This text was added to the website: 2012-02-11
Line count: 16
Word count: 136
Le chant de mort
Language: French (Français)  after the English
Adieu à vous, belle journée, verte terre et cieux
Aujourd'hui éclatants sous le grand soleil couchant !
Adieu ! Amour et amitié, et tendres liens,
Le cours de notre existence est achevé !
Toi, sinistre Roi de Terreur, toi lugubre ennemi de la Vie,
Va effrayer le couard et l'esclave !
Va leur apprendre à trembler, cruel tyran, mais sache
Que tu ne terrorises pas les braves.
Tu frappes le pauvre paysan et il sombre dans le noir
Et ne sauve pas même les bribes d'un nom !
Tu frappes un jeune héros, glorieuse distinction
Et il tombe dans l'éclat de sa renommée.
Au champ du fier honneur, nos épées à la main
Pour sauver notre roi et notre pays,
Alors que la victoire brille sur le dernier rivage de la Vie,
Ô, qui ne voudrait mourir avec les braves !
Authorship:
- Translation from English 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.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "The song of Death"
This text was added to the website: 2014-08-05
Line count: 16
Word count: 141