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With short, sharp violent lights made vivid, To southward far as the sight can roam ; Only the swirl of the surges livid, The seas that climb and the surfs that comb. Only the crag and the cliff to nor'ward, [And]1 The rocks receding, and reefs flung forward, [And]1 waifs wreck'd seaward and wasted shoreward, On shallows sheeted with flaming foam. A grim, gray coast and a seaboard ghastly, And shores trod seldom by feet of men -- Where the batter'd hull and the broken mast lie, They have lain embedded these long years ten. Love! when we wandered here together, Hand in hand through the sparkling weather, From the heights and hollows of fern and heather, God surely loved us a little then. The skies were [fairer and]2 shores were firmer -- The blue sea over the bright sand roll'd; Babble and prattle, and ripple and murmur, Sheen of silver and glamour of gold. [And the sunset bath'd in the gulf to lend her A garland of pinks and of purples tender, A tinge of the sun-god's rosy splendour, A tithe of his glories manifold.]1 Man's works are graven, cunning, and skilful On earth, where his tabernacles are; But the sea is wanton, the sea is wilful, And who shall mend her and who shall mar? Shall we carve success or record disaster On the bosom of her heaving alabaster? Will her purple pulse beat fainter or faster For fallen sparrow or fallen star? I would that with sleepy, soft embraces The sea would fold me -- would find me rest, In luminous shades of her secret places, In depths where her marvels are manifest; So the earth beneath her should not discover My hidden couch -- nor the heaven above her -- As a strong love shielding a weary lover, I would have her shield me with shining breast. When light in the realms of space lay hidden, When life was yet in the womb of time, Ere flesh was fettered to fruits forbidden, And souls were wedded to care and crime, Was the course foreshaped for the future spirit -- A burden of folly, a void of merit -- That would fain the wisdom of stars inherit, And cannot fathom the seas sublime? Under the sea or the soil (what matter? The sea and the soil are under the sun), As in the former days in the latter, The sleeping or waking is known of none. Surely the sleeper shall not awaken To griefs forgotten or joys forsaken, For the price of all things given and taken, The sum of all things done and undone. Shall we count offences or coin excuses, Or weigh with scales the soul of a man, Whom a strong hand binds and a sure hand looses, Whose light is a spark and his life a span? The seed he sow'd or the soil he cumber'd, The time he served or the space he slumber'd, Will it profit a man when his days are number'd, Or his deeds since the days of his life began? One, glad because of the light, saith, "Shall not The righteous Judge of all the earth do right, For behold the sparrows on the house-tops fall not Save as seemeth to Him good in His sight?" And this man's joy shall have no abiding, Through lights departing and lives dividing, He is soon as one in the darkness hiding, One loving darkness rather than light. A little season of love and laughter, Of light and life, and pleasure and pain, And a horror of outer darkness after, And dust returneth to dust again. Then the lesser life shall be as the greater, And the lover of life shall join the hater, And the one thing cometh sooner or later, And no one knoweth the loss or gain. Love of my life! we had lights in season -- Hard to part from, harder to keep -- We had strength to labour and souls to reason, And seed to scatter and fruits to reap. Though time estranges and fate disperses, We have HAD our loves and our loving mercies; Though the gifts of the light in the end are curses, Yet bides the gift of the darkness -- sleep! [See! girt with tempest and winged]3 with thunder, And clad with lightning and shod with sleet, [The strong winds treading the swift waves sunder]4 The flying rollers with frothy feet. One gleam like a bloodshot sword-blade swims on The sky-line, staining the green gulf crimson, A death stroke fiercely dealt by a dim sun, That strikes through his stormy winding-sheet. O, brave white horses! you gather and gallop, The storm sprite loosens the gusty reins; Now the stoutest ship were the frailest shallop In your hollow backs, on your high arch'd manes. I would ride as never [a]1 man has ridden In your sleepy, swirling surges hidden, To gulfs [foreshadowed through straits]5 forbidden, Where no light wearies and no love wanes.
E. Elgar sets stanzas 1-3, 12-13
1 omitted by Elgar, who sets stanzas 1-2, 3:1-4, and 12-13
2 Elgar: "fairer, the"
3 Elgar: "So girt with tempest and wing'd"
4 Elgar: "And strong winds treading the swift waves under"
5 Elgar: "foreshadow'd thro' strifes"
Authorship:
- by Adam Lindsay Gordon (1833 - 1870), "The swimmer" [author's text checked 1 time 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 Edward Elgar, Sir (1857 - 1934), "The swimmer", op. 37 no. 5 (1899), first performed 1899, stanzas 1-3,12-13 [ contralto or mezzo-soprano and orchestra or piano ], from Sea Pictures, no. 5 [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "El nedador", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , "Der Schwimmer", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Il nuotatore", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 104
Word count: 820
Vivificat amb llums breus, lacerants, violentes, lluny, cap al sud, fins on l'esguard arriba, només el lívid remolí de les onades, els mars que s'aixequen i l'onatge que romp. Vers el nord, només espadats i cingles, roques minvant i esculls sortints, i naus que naufragaren abandonades a la costa, en poca fondària, enquitranades per l'escuma lluent. Una costa gris, tenebrosa i un litoral ferest, rarament trepitjades pels humans -- on el malparat buc i el pal trencat han anat a raure, encastats durant molt de temps. Amor! Quan aquí passejàvem ensems, agafats de la mà, amb un temps esplèndid, per turons i fondals, falgueres i brucs, ben segur que, llavors, Déu ens estimava una mica. El cel era més serè i la costa més ferma -- el mar blau rompia damunt la sorra brillant; barboteig i xerroteig, murmuri i remor, lluïssor d'argent i encís d'or. I el sol ponent es banyava a la rada per donar-li una garlanda de suaus roses i porpres, un toc de l'esplendor rosada del déu sol, un delme de la seva glòria multiforme. Les obres dels homes són esculpides, enginyoses i destres a la terra, on rauen llurs tabernacles; però el mar és capriciós, el mar és obstinat i qui el pot millorar o qui el pot malmetre? Hauríem de cisellar l'èxit o inscriure el desastre a la sina del seu onejant alabastre? Bategarà el seu purpuri pols més feble o més de pressa per un pardal mort o la caiguda d'un estel? Jo voldria que, amb somnolents, tendres abraçades, el mar m'embolcallés -- em trobés el repòs, en les lluminoses ombres dels seus espais secrets, de forma que la terra al dessota no pogués descobrir el meu amagatall secret -- ni tampoc el cel al seu damunt -- com un amor poderós que empara un amant abatut, voldria que em protegís amb la seva sina lluminosa. Quan la llum restava oculta en el reialme de l'espai i la vida era encara a l'úter del temps, abans que la carn fou encadenada a fruits prohibits, i les ànimes fermades al neguit i al crim, el camí ja estava traçat cap a l'esperit futur -- un feix de follia, una manca de mèrit -- què voldria, de tot cor, heretar la saviesa dels estels i no pot sondejar la sublimitat del mar? Dessota el mar o la terra (què importa? El mar i la terra estan sota el sol), Com en els primers dies i els últims, ningú coneix el son o la vigília. Certament el dorment no serà despertat per penes oblidades o alegries relinquides, per el preu de totes les coses que foren donades o preses, la suma de tot el que fou fet i no fet. Hem de comptar ofenses, o inventar excuses, o pesar amb balances l'ànima d'un home al que una mà forta lliga i una mà segura deixa anar, del qual la llum és una guspira i la seva vida un lapse? La llavor que ell ha plantat o el terreny que ha malmès, el temps que ha treballat o les estones que ha reposat, seran de profit per a un home, quan els seus dies estan comptats, o les seves obres, des del dia que la vida començà? Un hom, delectat pe la llum, digué, "No fa bé l'exemplar Jutge de tota la terra, de mirar que no caiguin els pardals de les teulades, de protegir-los com a Ell bé li sembla, sota el Seu esguard?" I la joia d'aquest home no serà perdurable, a través de llums esmorteïdes i vides dividides, aviat és com un que s'amaga en la foscúria i estima més la fosca que la llum. Un curt període d'amor i rialles, de llum i vida, plaer i sofrença, i un horror de foscor externa després i, de nou, la pols retorna a la pols. Llavors la vida inferior serà com la més gran i qui estima la vida s'aplegarà amb qui la detesta i una única cosa arriba a l'hora o més tard i ningú coneix la pèrdua o el guany. Amor de la meva vida! Tinguérem estones de llum -- difícil de separar-se'n i encara més de mantenir-les -- tinguérem forces per treballar i ànima per raonar i llavors per escampar i fruita per collir. I encara que el temps distancia i el destí dispersa, hem TINGUT els nostres amors i moments de gràcia; i tot i que els presents de la llum són finalment malediccions, encara resta el regal de la foscúria -- dormir! Mira! Cinglats amb tempestes i amb ales de tro i vestits amb llamps i calçats amb calamarsa, els forts vents calciguen les fuents onades separant-les, les ones veloces amb peus escumosos. Un raig, com el tall d'una espasa tacada de sang, sura a l'horitzó, tenyint de vermell la verda badia, un cop de gràcia donat per un sol morent que colpeja amb la seva tempestuosa mortalla. Oh, ardits cavalls blancs! Us aplegueu i galopeu, l'esperit de la tempesta afluixa les regnes; ara el més robust vaixell seria una fràgil xalupa damunt les vostres esquenes buides, les vostres enarcades crineres. Jo cavalcaria com un home mai ha cavalcat, ocult en les seves somnolents, terbolinades ones, vers rades secretes, albirades a través d'estrets, on mai flaqueja la llum ni minva l'amor.
Authorship:
- Translation from English to Catalan (Català) copyright © 2013 by Salvador Pila, (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 English by Adam Lindsay Gordon (1833 - 1870), "The swimmer"
This text was added to the website: 2013-06-26
Line count: 103
Word count: 870