by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)
Translation by Josef Václav Sládek (1845 - 1912)

O Mary, at thy window be!
Language: Scottish (Scots) 
Available translation(s): FRE
O Mary, at thy window be!
  It is the wish'd the trysted hour.
Those smiles and glances let me see,
  That makes the miser's treasure poor.
  How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
  Could I the rich reward secure -- 
The lovely Mary Morison!

Yestreen, when to the trembling string
  The dance gaed thro the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,
  I sat, but neither heard or saw:
  Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,
  I sigh'd, and said amang them a' -- 
"Ye are na Mary Morison!"

O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
  Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his
  Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
  At least be pity to me shown:
A thought ungentle canna be
  The thought o' Mary Morison.

About the headline (FAQ)

Confirmed with The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Burns, Cambridge edition, Boston and New York, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1897, page 299.


Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

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Researcher for this text: Pierre Mathé [Guest Editor]

Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Last modified: 2014-07-28 11:29:52
Line count: 24
Word count: 158

Mary Morison
Language: Czech (Čeština)  after the Scottish (Scots) 
Ó, Mary, přistup k oknu blíž,
   to čas, kdy vídám tě tam stát —
ať spatřím úsměv, pohled již,
   mně dražší každý nad poklad.
Jak pracoval bych v poli rád
   od úsvitu až v slunka sklon,
když v odměnu bych svoji zvát
   moh' sličnou Mary Morison.

Když včera hudba začla znět
   a tancem hlučel světlý sál,
mé myšlénky šly k tobě v let,
   já neslyšel a nedýchal,
ten kráskou tu, ten onu zval
   a po jiné byl všechněch shon. —
»Ó, není,« já si zavzdychal,
   »z vás žádná Mary Morison!«

Ó, Mary, tolik strojíš muk,
   a já bych za tě umřel tich,
a stavíš mého srdce tluk,
   v němž pouze láska k tobě hřích.
Když lásky není v prsou tvých,
   přej soucitný mi aspoň ston, —
neb myšlének mít nemůž' zlých
   v své duši Mary Morison.

Authorship

Based on

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

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Researcher for this text: Andrew Schneider [Guest Editor]

Text added to the website: 2019-08-04 00:00:00
Last modified: 2019-08-04 14:29:02
Line count: 24
Word count: 136