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Vedi! la bianca luna Splende sui colli; La notturna brezza Scorre leggera ad increspare il vago Grembo del queto lago. Perché, perché sol io Nell'ora più tranquilla e più soave Muto e pensoso mi starò? Qui tutto È gioia; il ciel, la terra Di natura sorridono all'incanto. L'esule solo è condannato al pianto. Ed io pure fra l'aure native Palpitava d'ignoto piacer. Oh, del tempo felice ancor vive La memoria nel caldo pensier. Corsi lande, deserti, foreste, Vidi luoghi olezzanti di fior; M'aggirai fra le danze e le feste, Ma compagno ebbi sempre il dolor. Or che mi resta?... togliere alla vita Quella forza che misero mi fa. Deh, vieni, vieni, o morte, a chi t'invita E l'alma ai primi gaudi tornerà. Oh, che allor le patrie sponde Non saranno a me vietate; Fra quell'aure, su quell'onde Nudo spirto volerò; Bacerò le guance amate Della cara genitrice Ed il pianto all'infelice Non veduto tergerò.
- by Temistocle Solera (1815 - 1878) [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)
Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Melissa Malde) , title 1: "The exile", copyright © 2012, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Paolo Montanari
This text was added to the website: 2011-02-13
Line count: 31
Word count: 154
Look! The white moon shines on the hills The night breeze flows lightly to ruffle the charming womb of the peaceful lake. Why, why in this hour so tranquil and sweet Am I alone mute and thoughtful? Here all is joy; The sky, the earth, all nature smiles at the enchantment. Only the exile is condemned to weep. And within my native air I also Throbbed with hidden joy. Oh, the memory of those happy times Lives again in my ardent thoughts. I race through grasslands, deserts, forests, I observe scenes fragrant with flowers; I wander through the dances and the festivals, But pain was always my companion. Now, what is left for me? Take away from my life This force that makes me suffer. Oh come, come death, I invite you And my soul will return to its original delight! Oh, then my native shore will not be barred to me! In that air, on those waves my bared soul will fly; I will kiss the beloved cheek of my dear parents And my sad tears will be wiped away.
- Translation from Italian (Italiano) to English copyright © 2012 by Melissa Malde, (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.
This text was added to the website: 2012-09-11
Line count: 31
Word count: 181