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In vain to this desert my fate I deplore, For dark is the wildwood, and bleak is the shore; The rude blasts I hear, and the white waves I see, But nought that gives shelter or confort to me. O love! Thou hast pleasures, and deep have I lov'd, I love! Thou hast sorrows, and sore Have I prov'd: But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, I can feel, by its throbbing, will soon be at rest. When clos'd are those eyes, that but open to weep, With my woes and my wrongs I shall peacefully sleep; But the thorn my inkindness first plac'd in my heart, Transplanted to thine, shall new anguish impart.
Text Authorship:
- by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "In vain to this desert my fate I deplore" [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
- by Anne Grant (1755 - 1838), "In vain to this desert my fate I deplore" [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Ludwig van Beethoven (1770 - 1827), "In vain to this desert my fate I deplore", WoO. 152 (25 irische Lieder) no. 17, G. 223 no. 17 (1810/3) [ vocal duet with violin, violoncello, piano ] [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Je déplore en vain mon destin dans ce désert", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (Georg Pertz) , "Vergebens beklag' ich mein trübes Geschick"
Researcher for this page: Ferdinando Albeggiani
This text was added to the website: 2004-12-11
Line count: 12
Word count: 117
Je déplore en vain mon destin dans ce désert Car le bois sauvage est noir, et la côte désolée ; J'entends de rudes coups et vois de blanches vagues, Mais rien pour m'abriter ou me réconforter. Ô amour ! Tu donnes des plaisirs , et j'ai profondément aimé, J'aime ! Tu donnes des chagrins et j'en ai éprouvé de cruels : Mais ce cœur meurtri qui saigne maintenant dans ma poitrine, Je le sens à ses battements, sera bientôt au repos. Quand ces yeux qui ne s'ouvrent que pour pleurer seront fermés Je dormirai en paix, avec mes infortunes et mes torts ; Mais l'épine par ma méchanceté d'abord piquée dans mon cœur, Transplantera dans le tien de nouvelles angoisses.
Text 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.
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Based on:
- a text in Scottish (Scots) by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "In vain to this desert my fate I deplore" and by Anne Grant (1755 - 1838), "In vain to this desert my fate I deplore"
This text was added to the website: 2014-07-14
Line count: 12
Word count: 115