Lamentation d'une mère | Le destin donna l'ordre, la flèche jaillit

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by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)

Translation © by Pierre Mathé

Gil Morris

Language: English

Our translations: FRE

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped,
And pierc'd my darling's heart,
And with him all the joys are fled
Life can to me impart. 
By cruel hands the sapling drops,
In dust dishonour'd laid :
So fell the pride of all my hopes,
My age's future shade.
 
The mother linnet in the brake
Bewails her ravish'd young :
So I, for my lost darling's sake
Lament the live-day long. 
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow !
Now, fond, I bare my breast !
O, do thou kindly lay me low
With him I love, at rest!

Confirmed with The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Burns, Cambridge edition, Boston and New York, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1897, page 225.

Glossary

Brake = thicket

Text Authorship:

by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "Gil Morris" [author's text checked 1 time 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 (Franz) Joseph Haydn (1732 - 1809), "Gil Morris", subtitle: "A mother's lamentation for the loss of her son", Hob. XXXIa:196, JHW. XXXII/3 no. 238. [voice and piano] [
text verified 1 time
]

Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):

FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , title 1: "Lamentation d'une mère", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this page: Ferdinando Albeggiani

This text was added to the website: 2009-07-14
Line count: 16
Word count: 94

Lamentation d'une mère

Language: French (Français) after the English

Le destin donna l'ordre, la flèche jaillit
Et perça le cœur de mon fils chéri,
Et avec lui se sont envolées toutes les joies
Que la vie peut me donner.
Abattu par des mains cruelles, l'arbrisseau
Gît déshonoré dans la poussière :
Ainsi tomba l'honneur de tous mes espoirs,
L'ombrage futur de ma vieillesse.

La mère linotte dans le buisson
Pleure le rapt de son petit :
De même, pour l'amour de mon fils chéri disparu,
Je me lamente tous les jours de ma vie.
Mort, j'ai souvent craint ton coup fatal !
Maintenant, chère, je dénude ma poitrine !
Ô, je t'en prie, couche-moi sous terre,
Que je repose avec celui que j'aime !

Translation of Haydn's subtitle: "Lamentation d'une mère sur la mort de son fils"

Text 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.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net

Based on:

a text in English by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "Gil Morris"
- Go to the text page.

This text was added to the website: 2014-08-05
Line count: 16
Word count: 110