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Farewell to the Banks of Ayr

Language: English

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast,	
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast,	
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,	
I see it driving o'er the plain;	
The hunter now has left the moor.
The scatt'red coveys meet secure;	
While here I wander, prest with care,	
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.	
 
The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn	
By early Winter's ravage torn;
Across her placid, azure sky,	
She sees the scowling tempest fly:	
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave;	
I think upon the stormy wave,	
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonie banks of Ayr.	
 
'Tis not the surging billow's roar,	
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore;	
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear,	
The wretched have no more to fear:
But round my heart the ties are bound,	
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound;	
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,	
To leave the bonie banks of Ayr.	
 
Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales,
Her healthy moors and winding vales;	
The scenes where wretched Fancy roves,	
Pursuing past, unhappy loves!	
Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes!	
My peace with these, my love with those:
The bursting tears my heart declare --	
Farewell, the bonie banks of Ayr!



Translation(s): GER

Tune: "Roslin Castle."

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

    [ None yet in the database ]


Set in German (Deutsch), a translation by Ferdinand Freiligrath (1810 - 1876) , no title, from Gedichte, in Robert Burns. Elf Lieder [later 13 Lieder], no. 4, published 1838

Text added to the website: 2006-12-28.

Notes about what "text verified" means can be found here.

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Die finstre Nacht bricht schnell herein

Language: German (Deutsch)

Die finstre Nacht bricht schnell herein,
Der Sturmwind heult; mit Regen dräu'n
Die trüben Wolken; schwärzlich stehn
Sie über diesen nackten Höhn.
Der Jäger wandert heim vom Moor,
Das Rebhuhn duckt sich unters Rohr,
Und ich, das Herz von Sorgen schwer,
Geh' einsam hier entlang den Ayr.

Der Herbst beweint sein reifend Korn,
So früh schon von des Winters Zorn
Zerstört; am Abendhimmel sieht
Den Sturm er, wie er murrend flieht.
Kalt wird in meiner Brust das Blut,
Gedenk' ich der bewegten Flut,
Und daß ich ziehn muß über Meer,
Weit, weit von deinen Ufern, Ayr!

'S ist nicht die Brandung, die das Land
Wild zürnend schlägt; nicht dieser Strand,
Mit Trümmern manches Wracks bedeckt;
Der kalte Sturmwind nicht - was schreckt
Den Sohn des Elends? - aber trägt
Mein wundes Herz nicht Fesseln? schlägt
Es krampfhaft nicht, und blutet sehr,
Da es sie bricht, dich meidend, Ayr?

Lebt wohl, ihr Schluchten und ihr Seen,
Ihr haidekrautbewachs'nen Höhn!
Du grünes Thal, du stiller Pfad,
Die meiner Liebe Schmerz ihr saht! -
Freund! - Feind! - lebt wohl! Ich segn' euch gleich[.]
Meine Lieb', mein Friede sei mit euch!
O, dieser Thränensturz sagt mehr,
Als Worte! - Lebe wohl, mein Ayr!



Submitted by Sharon Krebs

Authorship

Based on

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Text added to the website: 2010-11-14.