Four Part-Songs

Song Cycle by Hans Gál (1890 - 1987)

Word count: 542

1. Love will find out a way [sung text not yet checked]

Over the mountains,
And over the waves,
Under the fountains
And under the graves.
Under floods that are deepest
Which Neptune obey,
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place
For the glow-worm to lie,
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly;
Where the midge dare not venture
Lest herself fast she lay,
If love come, he will enter
And [soon find out his way]1.

You may esteem him
A child for his might;
Or you may deem him
A coward from his flight;
But if she whom love doth honour
Be conceal'd from the day,
Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.

Some think to [lose him
By having]2 him confined;
[And]3 some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,
Do the best that ye may,
Blind love, if so ye call him,
[Will find out his way]4.

You may train the eagle
To stoop to your fist;
Or you may inveigle
The phoenix of the East,
The lioness, [ye]5 may move her
to [give]6 o'er her prey;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover:
[He will find out his way]7.


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View original text (without footnotes)
1 Quilter: "will find out the way"
2 Quilter: "loose him/ Or have"
3 omitted by Quilter.
4 Quilter: "Soon will find out his way"
5 Quilter: "you"
6 Quilter: "get"
7 Quilter: "love shall find out the way"

Researcher for this text: Ted Perry

2. An epitaph [sung text not yet checked]

Like thee I once have stemm'd the sea of life, 
  Like thee have languish'd after empty joys, 
Like thee have labour'd in the stormy strife, 
  Been grieved for trifles, and amused with toys. 
Forget my frailties; thou art also frail:
  Forgive my lapses; for thyself may'st fall: 
Nor read unmoved my artless tender tale --
  I was a friend, O man, to thee, to all.


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

3. To Sleep [sung text not yet checked]

O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
  Shutting with careful fingers and benign
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
  Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
  In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
Or wait the "Amen" ere thy poppy throws
  Around my bed its lulling charities.
  Then save me, or the passèd day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes, -
  Save me from curious Conscience, that still [lords]1
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like [a]2 mole;
  Turn the key deftly in the oilèd wards,
And seal the hushèd Casket of my Soul.


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

  • FRE French (Français) (Jean-Pierre Granger) , "Sonnet", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • NYN Norwegian (Nynorsk) (Are Frode Søholt) , "Sonnette", copyright © 2004, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • SPA Spanish (Español) (Pablo Sabat) , "Soneto"

View original text (without footnotes)
First published in a Plymouth newspaper in 1838
1 changed to "hoards" by Richard Woodhouse, and kept by Keats in the second transcription. Chávez uses this version.
2 changed to "the" in Keats' second transcription. Chávez uses this as well.

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

4. Phillida and Corydon [sung text not yet checked]

In the merrie moneth of Maye,
In a morne by break of daye,
With a troope of damselles playing
Forthe 'I yode' forsooth a maying;

When anon by a wood side,
Where that Maye was in his pride,
I espied all alone
Phillida and Corydon.

Much adoe there was, God wot:
He wold love, and she wold not.
She sayde, "Never man was trewe;"
He sayes, "None was false to you."

He sayde, hee had lovde her longe;
She sayes, love should have no wronge.
Corydon wold kisse her then;
She sayes, "Maydes must kisse no men,

"Tyll they doe for good and all."
When she made the shepperde call
All the heavens to wytnes truthe,
Never loved a truer youthe.

Then with manie a prettie othe,
Yea and nay, and faithe and trothe,
Suche as seelie shepperdes use
When they will not love abuse,

Love, that had bene long deluded,
Was with kisses sweete concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gaye
Was made the lady of the Maye.


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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]