by
Anne Hunter (1742 - 1821)
A pastoral song
Language: English
Our translations: DUT FRE
My mother bids me bind my hair
With bands of rosy hue,
Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare,
And lace my bodice blue.
For why, she cries, sit still and weep,
While others dance and play?
Alas! I scarce can go or creep,
While Lubin is away.
'Tis sad to think the days are gone,
When those we love were near;
I sit upon this mossy stone,
And sigh when none can hear.
And while I spin my flaxen thread,
And sing my simple lay,
The village seems asleep, or dead,
Now Lubin is away.
Text Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:
Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- DUT Dutch (Nederlands) [singable] (Lau Kanen) , "Lied van een herderin", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Chant pastoral", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 96
Lied van een herderin
Language: Dutch (Nederlands) after the English
Mijn moeder zegt ‘Bind op je haar
Met roze bandjes gauw,
Met linten strik je mouwenpaar,
Trek aan je keursje blauw.’
‘Waarom’, vraagt zij, ‘schrei jij hier stil,
Terwijl het dansfeest is?’
Maar ik kan ‘t niet, zelfs als ik wil,
Als Lubin er niet is.
’t Is triest, hoe toch de tijd ging heen
Van liefde ongestoord;
Ik zit hier op ‘n bemoste steen
En zucht als niemand ’t hoort.
Terwijl ik spin mijn vlassen draad
En zing mijn simpel lied,
Lijkt dood of slapend elke straat,
Want Lubin is er niet.
Text Authorship:
Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2016-09-11
Line count: 16
Word count: 93
