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Attention! Some of this material is not in the public domain.

It is illegal to copy and distribute our copyright-protected material without permission. It is also illegal to reprint copyright texts or translations without the name of the author or translator.

To inquire about permissions and rates, contact Emily Ezust at licenses@email.lieder.example.net

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from Volkslieder (Folksongs)
Translation © by Patrick John Corness

Pohřeb zbojníkův
Language: Moravian (Moravština) 
Our translations:  ENG
Ked zme šli na hody
było nás jedenást,
ej bylo nás jedenást.
ked zme išli z hodů,
chybovał jeden z nás.

Počkajte, postojte
v téj Nytranskéj seči,
nech sa spočítáme,
zme-li tady všecí.

Nený tu jedného
kamaráda mého,
leží na chotári, 
šabla vedle neho.

Kamarády moji,
tu mňa nenechajte,
mojú ostrú šablú
hrob mne vykopajte.

Mojíma dukáty
mne ho vykládajte,
moju galánečku
na pohreb volajte.

Text Authorship:

  • from Volkslieder (Folksongs)  [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]

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

  • by Leoš Janáček (1854 - 1928), "Pohřeb zbojníkův" [ voice and piano ], from Moravská lidová poezie v písních, no. 52, confirmed with a concert programme booklet [sung text checked 1 time]

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

  • ENG English (Patrick John Corness) , "A Brigand’s Funeral", copyright © 2024, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Malcolm Wren [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website: 2018-02-20
Line count: 21
Word count: 65

A Brigand’s Funeral
Language: English  after the Moravian (Moravština) 
When we went a-raiding,
we were eleven men,
hey we were eleven then.
As we came back again,
we were missing one man.

At Nitra as we fight,
stay a while, let us count,
so that we can make sure
all of us are still here.

One of us is missing,
he is my true comrade,
he lies upon the field,
his sabre at his side.

O dear comrades of mine,
don’t abandon me here,
but dig for me a grave
with my trusty sabre.

With my ducats of gold
let it be then adorned,
and call my dearest girl
to say her last farewell.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from Moravian (Moravština) to English copyright © 2024 by Patrick John Corness, (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.
    Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net

Based on:

  • a text in Moravian (Moravština) from Volkslieder (Folksongs)
    • Go to the text page.

 

This text was added to the website: 2024-02-06
Line count: 21
Word count: 105

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–Emily Ezust, Founder

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