by Temistocle Solera (1815 - 1878)
Translation © by Melissa Malde

L'esule
Language: Italian (Italiano) 
Available translation(s): ENG
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.

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):

  • 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

The exile
Language: English  after the Italian (Italiano) 
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.

Authorship

  • 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.
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Based on

 

This text was added to the website: 2012-09-11
Line count: 31
Word count: 181