Songs from Vineacre

No rubies of red for my lady,
No jewel that glitters and charms,
But the light of the skies, in a little one's eyes,
And a necklace of two little arms.

Of two little arms that are clinging
(Oh ne'er was a necklace like this!),
And the wealth o' the world, and love's sweetness impearled,
In the joy of a little one's kiss.

A necklace of love for my lady,
That was linked by the angels above.
No other but this and a tender, sweet kiss
That sealeth a little one's love.

'Tis not the mere charm of the hour's gentle lending,
That leads me to stray by the streamside at even;
The sun's paly beam with the dale shadows blending,
The blue of the wave mocking that of the heaven;
'Twas here long ago, that our joys found their keeping,
And here that when weary she slept on my knee,
Oh! I knew that my Mary was dreaming while sleeping
Under the shade of the old willow tree,
Was dreaming while sleeping, was dreaming of me.

As fleeteth a glance fled the hours, swiftly darting,
Till fate bade us sever and reft me away.
I sought the streamside, scene of gladness, ere parting,
And there softly pillowed my love slumb'ring lay;
A warm dewy moisture her veiled eye was steeping,
Her lips moved, low whispers fell murmuringly,
And I knew that my Mary was dreaming while sleeping
Under the shade of the old willow tree,
Was dreaming while sleeping, was dreaming of me.

My wanderings o'er, to the dear spot repairing,
I sought for my love in our hallowed retreat;
The bank was still there, the old moss-carpet wearing,
But a furrow was scooped in its breast at my feet.
Alas! how the tears flowed apace of my weeping!
She lay where she lay, but 't was not on my knee,
And my Mary no longer was dreaming while sleeping
Under the shade of the old willow tree,
Not dreaming while sleeping, not dreaming of me.

O celestial sorrow,
Wilt thou never cease?
Shall to suff'ring mortals
Never come sweet peace?
But if pain's my portion,
Of pain let me die,
Such is my desire,
My desire.

Tired am I of knowing,
Sympathy is dead.
I'd speak not nor listen,
Neither hope nor dread,
Mocking like an echo
Comes e'en my last sigh,
Then, oh, let me die,
'Tis my desire.

In a sleep unbroken
Ever would I rest.
Never to awaken
In Earth's dreamless breast.
This the end, a blest one,
To it I aspire;
Give me my desire,
My desire.

Ô céleste haine,
Comment t'assouvir ?
Ô souffrance humaine,
Qui te peut guérir ?
Si lourde est ma peine,
J'en voudrais mourir,
Tel est mon désir,
Mon désir.

Navré de comprendre,
Las de compatir.
Pour ne plus entendre,
Ni voir, ni sentir,
Je suis prêt a rendre
Mon dernier soupir,
Et c'est mon désir,
Mon désir.

Ne plus rien connaître,
Ne  me souvenir,
Ne jamais renaître,
Ne me rendormir.
Ne plus jamais être,
Mais en bien finir,
Voilà mon désir.,
Mon désir.

I sing to my love, the rose,
With all my soul and heart,
For there's naught so sweet in all the world,
As to love, to love, to love.

I sing to my love, the rose,
And the rose sings back to me,
The sweetest song that e'er will be:
"For I love, I love, I love."

I sing to my love, the rose,
As I gaze in her deep red heart,
For her heart is free for all to see,
With its love, its love, its love.

I sing to my love, the rose,
With love for the theme of my song,
For I love the rose and the rose loves me,
So we love, we love, we love.

I sing to my love, the rose,
With all my soul and heart,
For there's naught so sweet in all the world,
As to love, to love, to love.

I sing to my love, the rose,
And the rose sings back to me,
The sweetest song that e'er will be:
"For I love, I love, I love."

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The silver moonlight 
gleams thro' the trees,
And voices sweet 
are borne on the breeze,
Voices of love.

O Dearest One,

The pool's deep waters 
mirror the sky,
And mournful willow 
bending nigh,
The tree of sorrow, 

O blessed hour.

A sweet and
holy peace 
from above
Comes down upon this 
blest hour of love,

this hour of love.

La lune blanche 
Luit dans les bois ;
De chaque branche 
Part une voix 
Sous la ramée...

Ô bien aimée.

L'étang reflète,
Profond miroir,
La silhouette
Du saule noir
Où le vent pleure...

Rêvons, c'est l'heure.

Un vaste et tendre
Apaisement
Semble descendre
Du firmament
Que l'astre irise...

C'est l'heure exquise.

If ever the world unfaithful prove,
Steadfast hold thou ever;
Tho' broken of heart and bereft of love,
See thou falter never!
Strike thou thy harp in a hero-song,
With fervor's deep glowing,
Thy passion wilt pass in the music-strain
And sweet peace be over flowing.

Wenn man an dir Verrat geübt,
Sei du um so treuer;
Und ist deine Seele zu Tode betrübt,
So greife zur Leier.

Die Saiten klingen! Ein Heldenlied,
Voll Flammen und Gluten!
Da schmilzt der Zorn, und dein Gemüt
Wird süß verbluten.

"Eyes of beauty, bright but fading,"
Thus I heard a sweet voice singing,
When in distant lands I wandered,
(Still in mem'ry's halls 'tis ringing.)

'Twas a little maiden sang it,
By the sea her nets amending,
And when first my eyes beheld thee,
'Twas with that sweet vision blending.

«Augen, sterblich schöne Sterne!»
Also mag das Liedchen klingen,
Das ich weiland in Toskana
An dem Meere hörte singen.

Eine kleine Dirne sang es,
Die am Meere Netze flickte;
Sah mich an, bis ich die Lippen
An ihr rotes Mündchen drückte.

An das Lied, an Meer und Netze
Hab ich wieder denken müssen,
Als ich dich zuerst erblickte -
Doch nun muß ich dich auch küssen.