by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)
Translation © by Pierre Mathé

O Mary, at thy window be!
Language: Scottish (Scots) 
Available translation(s): FRE
O Mary, at thy window be!
  It is the wish'd the trysted hour.
Those smiles and glances let me see,
  That makes the miser's treasure poor.
  How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
  Could I the rich reward secure -- 
The lovely Mary Morison!

Yestreen, when to the trembling string
  The dance gaed thro the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,
  I sat, but neither heard or saw:
  Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,
  I sigh'd, and said amang them a' -- 
"Ye are na Mary Morison!"

O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
  Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his
  Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
  At least be pity to me shown:
A thought ungentle canna be
  The thought o' Mary Morison.

About the headline (FAQ)

Confirmed with The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Burns, Cambridge edition, Boston and New York, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1897, page 299.


Authorship

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Researcher for this text: Pierre Mathé [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 24
Word count: 158

Mary Morison
Language: French (Français)  after the Scottish (Scots) 
Ô Mary, sois à ta fenêtre,
    C'est l'heure souhaitée du rendez-vous.
Fais-moi voir ces sourires et regards
    Qui rendent vil le trésor de l'avare.
    Comme j'attendrais l'heure avec bonheur,
Esclave fatigué, soleil après soleil,
    Si je pouvais obtenir cette précieuse récompense,
La charmante Mary Morison !

Quand la nuit dernière au son tremblant des violons
    La danse passait dans la salle éclairée,
Mon imagination prit son vol vers toi,
    J'étais assis mais n'entendais ni ne voyais plus :
    Bien que celle-ci fut belle, celle-là élégante,
Et celle là-bas la coqueluche de toute la ville,
    Je soupirais et disais à toutes :
« Vous n'êtes pas Mary Morison : »

Ô, Mary, peux-tu détruire la paix de celui
    Qui mourrait volontiers pour ton amour ?
Ou peux-tu briser le cœur de celui
    Dont la seule faute est de t'aimer ?
    Si à l'amour tu ne rends pas l'amour,
Témoigne-moi au-moins de la pitié :
     Une pensée revêche ne peut être
Une pensée de Mary Morison.

Authorship

  • Translation from Scottish (Scots) to French (Français) copyright © 2014 by Pierre Mathé, (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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This text was added to the website: 2014-07-23
Line count: 24
Word count: 164