by William Smyth (1765 - 1849)
Translation © by Guy Laffaille

The farewell song
Language: English 
Available translation(s): FRE
O Erin! To thy harp divine
I bid adieu:
Yet let me now its sounds resign
With homage due.
Thy gen'rous sons, that know not fear,
Their feelings, genius, fire:
O blest be all! But Erin dear,
Be blest thy lyre.

O where the heart that would not bound
With answering beat,
To hear thy Planxty's dancing sound,
And numbers sweet.
And where the heart that sinks not low,
And musing melts away,
To hear thy harp's deep lonely flow,
When mourns the lay.

No toil can e'er such sweets supply
No chymic power,
As brings me bee, with honied thigh,
From wild heath flower:
And Science, that could wake the strings
To chords of rapture high.
May envy, while she smiling sings
Thy minstrelsy.

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

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

  • GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (G. Pertz) , title 1: "Abschiedsgesang"
  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , title 1: "Le chant d'adieu", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Research team for this text: Guy Laffaille [Guest Editor] , Ferdinando Albeggiani

Text added to the website: 2005-09-18 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:02:14
Line count: 24
Word count: 125

Le chant d'adieu
Language: French (Français)  after the English 
Ô Érin ! À ta harpe divine,
Je dis adieu :
Mais que maintenant je quitte ses sons
Avec l'hommage dû.
Tes fils généreux qui ne connaissent pas la peur,
Leurs sentiments, leur génie, leur flamme,
Oh, qu'ils soient tous bénis ! mais chère Érin,
Que ta lyre soit bénie.

Où est le cœur qui ne bondirait pas
Avec un battement à l'unisson,
À entendre les notes dansantes de Planxty
Et ses doux rythmes,
Et où est le cœur qui ne se sent pas faible,
Et en rêvant ne s'envole pas,
À entendre le flot profond et solitaire de ta harpe,
Quand le chant pleure.

Aucun travail ne peut fournir de douceurs égales,
Aucune puissance chimique,
À celle que porte l'abeille les pattes pleines de miel
Des fleurs de la lande sauvage :
Et la science qui pourrait éveiller les cordes
Pour produire des accords de ravissement profond,
Peut envier quand elle chante en souriant
Ton art de ménestrel.

Authorship

  • Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2014 by Guy Laffaille, (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.
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Based on

 

Text added to the website: 2014-01-14 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:05:28
Line count: 24
Word count: 159