by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)
Translation by Gustav Legerlotz (1832 - 1904)

O Mary, at thy window be!
Language: Scottish (Scots) 
Our translations:  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.


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Researcher for this page: 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: German (Deutsch)  after the Scottish (Scots) 
O Mary, komm ans Fenster nu!
  's isch die ersehnte Stund, du weißt. 
Dei sonnigs Lächeln neig mir zu, 
  Das den Geiz sei Gold vergesse heißt. 
Froh trüg au 's schwerste Joch mei Geist, 
  E treuer Sklav, vo Sonn ze Sonn,
Wann 's ihm e süßes Glück verheißt:
  Die holde Mary Morison.

Als heint beim Klang der Saiten dort 
  Der Tanz gewogt durch's Hallenlicht,
Do stahl mei Geist zu dir sich fort;
  I sass, doch hört und sach i nicht. 
Do war meng hübsch, meng hold Gesicht,
  E dritts trug Lob uf Lob dervon. 
O geht ! Mei Herzli seufzt und spricht:
  "Keins isch kei Mary Morison !"

Der gern sei Herzblut für di giebt,
  O Mary, hast für den nur Pein ? 
Des Schuld nur isch, dass er di liebt, 
  Kannst den der Todesmarter weihn ? 
Und kann 's denn Lieb um Lieb nit sein, 
  Es labt au schon des Mitleids Bronn. 
O hart isch nimmermeh, o nein! 
  Der Sinn vo Mary Morison.

Note: the language of this text is a mixture of standard high German and dialect forms, e.g., Alemannic.

Confirmed with Robert Burns' Gedichte in Auswahl. Deutsch von Gustav Legerlotz., Leipzig, 1889, Druck und Verlag von Otto Spamer, pages 135-136.


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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2015-11-11
Line count: 24
Word count: 161