by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)
Translation by Ferdinand Freiligrath (1810 - 1876)

The lovely lass o' Inverness
Language: Scottish (Scots) 
Our translations:  FRE ITA
The lovely lass o' Inverness,
  Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en [to]1 morn she cries, (Alas!)
  And ay the saut tear blins her e'e:

« Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,
  A waefu' day it was to me !
For there I lost my father dear,
  My father dear and brethren three.

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,
  Their graves are growing green to see,
And by them lies the dearest lad
  That ever blest a woman's e'e!

Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
  A bluidy man I trow thou be,
For monie a heart thou has made sair
  That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee! »

About the headline (FAQ)

View original text (without footnotes)
Confirmed with The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Burns, Cambridge edition, Boston and New York, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1897, page 250.

1 Beethoven: "and"

Text Authorship:

  • by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "The lovely lass o' Inverness"

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

  • CZE Czech (Čeština) (Josef Václav Sládek) , "Dívka z Inverness"
  • FRE French (Français) (Isabelle Cecchini) , "La jolie fille d'Inverness", copyright © 2003, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Die holde Maid von Inverness"
  • ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "L'amabile fanciulla di Inverness", copyright © 2005, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • POL Polish (Polski) (Jan Kasprowicz) , "Nadobna dziewka z Inverness", Warsaw, first published 1907


Researcher for this page: Pierre Mathé [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 109

Die süße Dirn' von Inverness
 (Sung text for setting by H. Marschner)
 See original
Language: German (Deutsch)  after the Scottish (Scots) 
Die süße Dirn' von Inverness
Wird nun und nimmer wieder froh;
Ihr einz'ger Gang ist in die Mess',
Sie weint und seufzt, und sagt nur: O!

Drumossie Moor, Drumossie Moor;
O bitt'rer Tag, o blut'ges Moor!
Wo kalt und starr mein Vater lag,
Wo ich der Brüder drei verlor.

Ihr Lailach ist der blut'ge Klei,
Ihr Grab ist grün vom ersten Kraut,
Der schmuckste Bursche liegt dabei,
Den Mädchenaugen je geschaut!

Nun wehe Dir, der Du die Schlacht 
Gewinnst und sätest blutge Saat!
Manch Herz hast Du betrübt gemacht,
das Dir doch nichts zu Leide tat.

Composition:

Text Authorship:

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Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Johann Winkler

This text was added to the website: 2006-04-05
Line count: 16
Word count: 98