Re: "SWITEZIANKA" in English :)
ech, pokrzaczyl sie tekst (przynajmniej na mojej przegladarce) :( :-/
Dobra wiec, tylko tekst angielski (bo polski i tak znacie, prawda??), od poczatku do konca. Teraz powinno byc...
rozwiń
ech, pokrzaczyl sie tekst (przynajmniej na mojej przegladarce) :( :-/
Dobra wiec, tylko tekst angielski (bo polski i tak znacie, prawda??), od poczatku do konca. Teraz powinno byc OK
Adam Mickiewicz "Switezianka",
translated to English by Krzysztof "Critto" Sobolewski,
as "Fair Maiden from Switez"
-------------------------------------------------------
Who is this lad so handsome and young?
Who is that maiden so fair?
Who at the moonlight, by waters livid
Of Świteź awalking are?
With razzes from basket she dowers him,
He gives her the blooms to her wreath;
Suppose, that his true lover is she,
As he is the sweetheart of her.
Nearly each night, at the same hour
Upon this larch they two meet,
The lad is a hunter in forest near,
And who is the lass? I don't wit ...
Where has she come from? In vein one traces;
Where's gone she - Who's there to observe?
As crowfoot wet in swamp she arises,
As glimmer of night she’s a-fading.
"Tell me my darling, my maiden sweet,
Must in mystery we live?
What path to me thy feet have lead,
Where's home thy, and parents of thee?
Yellowed the leaves, the summer gone by,
And comes rainy season along,
Must I await each arrival thine,
On the lake's haggard shore?
"Always as deer reed among the woods
Through dark night as a phantom roamst thee,
Oh, better stay with the one that loves thou,
Oh, darling my, stay with me!"
"My little log-cabin from hence stands near,
Amongst the filber-trees thickset,
Galore we have there of fruits and milk,
And plenty of game one finds thither"
"Stop, stay!", replies she, "my lad so lofty,
My father old said, I'll remind:
Nightingale's grace is in man's voice,
But foxiness in his heart.
More of your cant I am afraid,
Than trust I the fervor of thine;
Maybe thy boon I would embrace,
But would you be a true love of mine?
So kneeled down the lad, took handful of gravel,
And summoned the forces infernal,
Upon the holy moonlight he swore,
But will he to oath his be faitful?
"Be faithful, oh hunter, that's my advice,
For whosever the oath sacred breaks,
Oh, wellaway to him while he lives,
And wellaway when he’s dead!”
So spake, no more the maiden abides,
She put her wreath on her head,
And, from afar the hunter she’s blessing,
To fields green comes she away.
In vain is hunter following her,
Can't catch her swiftly a-running,
As gentle aflatus she faded away,
And all'lone stayed he, thither standing.
All'lone stayed he, wild path a-returning,
The quicksand and slush is a-sagging,
Silence around, only under his feet
A withered twig is a-rustling.
At the water he's walking, with steps uncertain,
With faraway look he is ogling,
Swiftly, in thickset wood wind has blown,
And waters are seething and ruffling.
They're seething, they're ruffling, the mirror is bursting
O, following phantoms nameless!
A vestal fairness outgushing is
Through Świteź' silvery waters
Like rose's pale lobes her face appearing,
Sprent with a tear of a dawning,
Light as a mist is the attire
The heavenly figure is wearing
"My lad o handsome, my lad o youtful,"
The maiden's tenderly humming,
What for art thou, round Świteź waters,
Must at the moonlight a-roaming?"
"Why are thou for this maid haggard moaning,
Who thee in those forests is luring,
Troubles thyself, forsakes thou yearning,
And maybe of thee is a-taunting?"
"Please, be persuaded with word so tender,
Abandon thy sorrow and sighing,
Come hither, to me, we'll hither together,
On water crystal be dancing.
Would thou as keen as a swallow supple,
The water mirror be skimming?
Or, as sound as a trout, and as cheerful as trout
All day with me be a-swimming?
And night to spend in silver cradle's deep,
Below the watery mirrors
On lilies pale white deeply asleep,
And dream of the phantoms prodigious"
Swiftly, the swan-like bosom shines bare,
Down the ashamed hunter's gazing,
Slightly approaching to him is the maiden
And "come, come to me", she is calling.
Putting her feet light straight on the wind
In the air as a rainbow she’s dancing,
Then, watery mirrors slightly she hit,
With silvery drops she’s a-bursting.
Runs near the hunter, in place he’s halting,
Both wants he to jump and he’s shuffling;
Once, the wave blue springs from the shore
And lightly his feet is a-tickling.
It’s so a-tickling, it’s so alluring,
The lad’s heart melting completely,
As if his hand already held was
By a shy lover secretely.
Forgot the lad of his loved maiden
With oath his sacred disdained he,
To abyss blue to his doom he’s rushing,
With a new seduction allured.
He’s looking and running, and running and looking,
The mirror of water him carrying,
And far he went from the shores dry,
In the lake’s middle he’s dancing.
Once, the palm snowy in his hand holds he,
At the face gorgeous he’s gazing,
And, with his lips her lips he’s a-chasing
And circles high he’s a-dancing.
Once zephyr’s swishing, the cloud’s a-fading,
Which hid her with glare illusory;
Now this lass well can he distinguish:
Ah, it’s the one from the forest!
"Where's the oath thy? Where's my advice?
For whosever the oath sacred breaks,
Oh, wellaway to him, while he lives,
And wellaway when he’s dead!"
Not thou in the waters deep will be dallying,
Not thou in the lake vivid be diving;
Crude soil will take the body of thine,
With dirt will be darkened thy eyes".
"And spirit of thine, upon this tree conscious,
For thousand years will be waiting,
Forever suffering from heat infernal,
To put it out all unable"
So heard the hunter, with steps uncertain,
With faraway look he is ogling,
And blows the gale in the forest thickset,
The water is seething and ruffling.
It's seething, it's ruffling, till bottom's boiling,
Seizing them with current a-whirling,
The mouth of the lake's abyss is opening,
And with a lad a maiden is fading.
Till now, the water is seething and ruflling;
Hitherto, at the moon's light shiny
A pair of shadows transient is spunning,
This is the lad and the maiden.
She's dancing on the lake's silvery mirror,
He's upon this larch a-groaning,
Whom was the lad? - a hunter in forest,
And who is the lass? I don't wit.
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