by
Émilien Pacini (1810 - 1898)
L'Orpheline du Tyrol
Language: French (Français)
Available translation(s): ENG
Seule, une pauvre enfant sans parents
implore le passant en tremblant.
"Ah voyez mes douleurs et mes pleurs!
Ma mère dort ailleurs sous les fleurs."
L'humble enfant orpheline a bien faim
et pour un peu de pain tend le main.
"Je chanterai mon vieux refrain:
Ah! loin de mon doux Tyrol,
mon coeur brisé prendra son vol.
L'écho muet des bois
n'entendra plus ma triste voix:
Ah! Dieu, j'espère en toi,
prends pitié, prend pitié de moi!
Ma mère, ton adieu en ce lieu
m'inspire mon seul voeu au bon Dieu.
À quinze ans tant souffrir c'est mourir,
ne peux-tu revenir me bénir?
Pourquoi le froid trépas et le glas
t'ont-ils saisie, hélas, dans mes bras?
Ton coeur glacé ne m'entend pas:
ah! la douleur et la faim
à mes tourments vont mettre fin;
ma mère, je te vois,
j'entends de loin ta douce voix:
Ah! Dieu, j'espère en toi,
prends pitié, prends pitié de moi!
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):
- ENG English (Faith J. Cormier) , title 1: "The Orphan of the Tyrol", copyright © 2002, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: John Versmoren
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 26
Word count: 156
The Orphan of the Tyrol
Language: English  after the French (Français)
Alone and trembling, a poor child with no parents
implores passers-by,
"Oh, see my pain and my tears!
My mother sleeps far from here 'neath the flowers."
The humble, starving orphan child
holds out her hand for a crust.
"I will sing my old song.
Oh, far from my sweet Tyrol,
my broken heart will fly away.
The mute echo of the woods
will ne'er hear again my sad voice.
God, I trust in you,
have pity, have pity on me.
"Mother, your good-bye here
inspires my only wish to God.
At 15, such suffering is death.
Can't you come back to bless me?
Why have cold death and its knell
snatched you from my arms?
Your icy heart doesn't hear me.
Pain and hunger
will put an end to my torments.
Mother, I can see you,
I can hear your sweet voice in the distance.
God, I trust in you,
have pity, have pity on me."
Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2002 by Faith J. Cormier, (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:
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 26
Word count: 158