by Hector Macneill (1746 - 1818)
Translation © by Guy Laffaille

Donald and Flora
Language: English 
Available translation(s): FRE
When merry hearts were gay, 
Careless of aught but play, 
Poor Flora slipt away
Sad'ning to Mora. 
Loose flowed her yellow hair, 
Quick heaved her bosom bare, 
As thus to the troubled air
She vented her sorrow. 

"Loud howls the stormy west,
"Cold, cold is winter's blast: -- 
"Haste then, O Donald, haste! 
"Haste to thy Flora!
"Twice twelve long months are o'er 
"Since on a foreign shore 
"You promised to fight no more,
"But meet me in Mora.

"Never, O wretched fair!" 
Sighed the sad messenger, 
"Never shall Donald mair
"Meet his loved Flora! 
"Cold as yon mountain snow, 
"Donald, thy love, lies low! 
"He sent me to soothe thy woe,
"Weeping in Mora.

Mute stood the trembling fair, 
Speechless with wild despair, 
Then, striking her bosom bare,
Sighed out, "Poor Flora! 
"Ah Donald! -- ah, well a day!" 
Was all the fond heart could say; 
At length the sound died away
Feebly in Mora.

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):

  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , title 1: "Donald et Flora", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Researcher for this text: Ferdinando Albeggiani

Text added to the website: 2012-07-03 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:04:58
Line count: 32
Word count: 154

Donald et Flora
Language: French (Français)  after the English 
Alors que les cœurs joyeux étaient gais,
Sans autre souci que jouer,
La pauvre Flora se retira
Attristée à Mora.
Elle dénoua sa chevelure blonde au vent,
Dressa sa poitrine nue
Comme si à l'air troublé,
Elle donnait libre cours à son chagrin.

« La tempête d'ouest hurle fort,
Froid, froid, est le souffle de l'hiver,
Alors hâte-toi, ô Donald, hâte-toi !
Hâte-toi vers ta Flora !
Deux fois douze mois sont passés
Depuis que sur une rive étrangère
Tu as promis de ne plus te battre,
Mais de me rencontrer à Mora. »

« Jamais, ô blonde malheureuse ! »
Soupira le triste messager,
« Jamais le seigneur Donald
Ne rencontrera sa bien-aimée Flora !
Aussi froid que cette neige de montagne,
Donald, ton amour, est faible !
Il m'a envoyé pour apaiser ton malheur,
Pleurant à Mora. »

La blonde tremblante se tenait muette,
Sans parole avec un désespoir sauvage,
Alors, frappant sa poitrine nue,
Elle soupira, « pauvre Flora !
Ah, Donald ! -- ah ! hélas ! »
C'était tout ce que ce cœur aimant pouvait dire ;
À la fin le son s'évanouit
Faiblement dans Mora.

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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Text added to the website: 2014-11-25 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-11-25 11:03:57
Line count: 32
Word count: 190