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Confirmed with The Miscellaneous Works of A. M'Donald; including The Tragedy of Vimonda, and those productions which have appeared under the signature of Matthew Bramble, Esq. with various other compositions by the same author. London: Printed for J. Murray, no. 32, Fleet-Street. M.DCC.XCI. [1791], page 289.

Note: In MacDonald's opera libretto Love and Loyalty the poem appears in act III as Juliana's air. The poem has been quoted and included by Sir Walter Scott in his novel A Legend of Montrose, with some changes, in the 21st chapter (denominated "Chapter XIII"). Here Annot Lyle sings "a little Gaelic song, [which] has been translated by the ingenious and unhappy Alexander M'Donald". Scott's transcription of the poem has been confirmed with his anonymous publication Tales of my Landlord, Third Series. Collected and arranged by Jedediah Cleishbotham, Schoolmaster and Parish-Clerk of Gandercleugh. In four volumes. Vol. IV. Edinburgh: printed for Archibald Constable and Co. Edinburgh; 1819, pages 277-278.

¹ Scott: "lot"
² Scott: "wherever"
³ Scott: "bounding galley"
⁴ Scott: "must"
⁵ Scott: "shall be forever flown"
⁶ Scott: "sullen murmur"
⁷ Scott: "selfish murmurs"
⁸ Scott: "through life's"
⁹ Scott: "Like"
¹⁰ Scott: "move"
¹¹ Scott: "May wound the heart of"

Text Authorship:

• by Andrew MacDonald (1757 - 1790), "Air XXVII", appears in Love and Loyalty, first published 1791

See other settings of this text.

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

• GER German (Deutsch) (Sophie Friederike Elise Mayer) , no title, first published 1826

Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Peter Rastl [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website: 2003-11-07
Line count: 16
Word count: 107

Wär'st Du bei mir im Lebensthal',
Gern wollt' ich alles mit Dir theilen;
Mit Dir zu fliehn, wär' leichte Wahl,
Bei mildem Wind, bei Sturmesheulen.
Doch trennt uns harte Schicksalsmacht,
Uns ist nicht gleiches Loos geschrieben;
Mein Glück ist, wenn Dir Freude lacht,
Ich wein' und bete für den Lieben.

Es wird mein töricht Herz vergeh'n,
Wenn's alle Hoffnung sieht verschwinden;
Doch soll's nie seinen Gram gesteh'n,
Nie mürrisch klagend ihn verkünden.
Und drückt des Lebens Last das Herz,
Soll nie den matten Blick sie trüben,
So lange mein geheimer Schmerz
Ein Kummer wäre für den Lieben.