Ilu vanya, fanya, eari,
i-mar, ar ilqa ímen.
Nan úye sére indo-ninya símen, ullume;
ten sí ye tyelma, yéva tyel ar i narqelion,
íre ilqa yéva nótina, hostainiéva, yallume:
ananta úva táre fárea, ufárea!
The windy years have strewn down distant ways;
and in the halls still doth thy spirit sing
songs of old memory amid thy present tears,
or hope of days to come half-sad with many fears.
Though along thy paths no longer runs
while war untimely takes thy many sons,
no tide of treason can thy glory drown
robed in sad majesty, the stars thy crown.
I am the blood!
Old mornings dawn,
I am not the light you see,
but only that which is falling on me.
The misty stars thy crown, the night thy dress,
most peerless magical thou dost possess my heart,
and old days come to life again,
old mornings dawn...
Heard you the sound ... the sound of the muffled drum
And all the trumpets mournful blast
They tell that the time ... that the combatant's time has come
to all his dreams of glory past
Sealed till the last ... the last deep trumpet shake,
The earth with all its awful sound
Then shall the dead ... the dead arousing, wake,
While even nature sinks around!
The mother weeps ... she weeps her beloved son,
Who was her hope, her joy, her pride
He was the one ... the widow's only one
For him she surely would have died
Her pilgrimage is nearly past,
her every earthly woe,
like the ancient tree that falls at last
when wintry tempests blow
What marvel that she wildly cries
For the grave its prey to yield?
Oh! what avail are tears or sighs?
His earthly doom is seal'd.
Don't grieve for me
I'm not there
I am the gentle autumn rain
Hold up my lamp to light your wayfarewell to thee
发表于 2020-2-5 13:17
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