Schottische Lieder – Irische Lieder
Once more I hail thee
Once more I hail thee, thou gloomy December!
Thy visage so dark, and thy tempest’s dread roar; Sad was the parting thou mak’st me remember, My parting with Nancy, ah! Ne’er to meet more!
Fond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure, When hope mildly beams on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, „O farewell for ever“, Is anguish unmingled and agony pure.
Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, Until the last leaf of the summer is flown, Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, Since hope is departed and comfort is gone.
Robert Burns (1759-1796)
Sally in our alley
Of all the girls that are so smart,
There’s none like pretty Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley!
There’s not a lady in the land
That’s half so sweet as Sally,
She is the darling of my heart
And she lives in our alley.
Her father he makes cabbage nets,
And through the street does cry‘ em;
Her mother she sells laces long
To such as please to buy‘ em
How could such folks the parents be
Of such a girl as Sally!
She is the darling of my heart
And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that’s in the week,
I dearly love but one day,
And that’s the day that comes between
The Saturday and Monday,
For then I’m drest all in my best
To walk abroad with Sally.
She is the darling of my heart
And she lives in our alley.
Henry Carey (1687?-1743)
Die Losgekaufte
Ach Schiffer, lieber Schiffer,
Stoß noch nicht ab, o mache Halt.
Lieb Schwester wird mich retten.
Da kommt sie hergewallt!
Willst du den Demant geben,
O Schwester, frei bin ich im Nu!
Ich rette nicht dein Leben,
Du Schiffer, fahre zu!
Ach Schiffer, lieber Schiffer,
O stoß´ nicht ab, o mache Halt.
Herzvater wird mich retten,
Da kommt er hergewallt!
Willst deinen Rock wohl geben,
O Vater, frei bin ich im Nu!
Ich rette nicht dein Leben,
Du Schiffer, fahre zu!
Ach Schiffer, lieber Schiffer,
O stoß nicht ab, o mache Halt.
Mein Liebster wird mich retten,
Da kommt er hergewallt!
Willst du dein Schwerdt drum geben,
O Liebster! frei bin ich im Nu!
Ach halte, lieber Schiffer,
Nimm Alles, greife zu!
Wilhelm von Zuccalmaglio (1803-1869)
The pulse of an Irishman
The pulse of an Irishman ever beats quicker, whan war is the story, or love is the theme; and place him where bullets fly thicker and thicker, you’ll find him all cowardice scorning.
And tho‘ a ball should maim poor Darby,
light at the heart he rallies on:
„Fortune is cruel, but Norah, my jewel,
is kind, and with smiling, all sorrow beguiling, shall bid from our cabin all care to be gone, and how they will jig it, and tug at the spigot, an Patrick’s day in the mornin‘.“
O blest by the land in the wide western waters, sweet Erin, lov’d Erin, the pride of my song; still brave be the sons, and still fair be the daughters thy meads and thy mountains adorning!
And tho‘ the eastern sun seems tardy,
tho‘ the pure light of knowledge slow,
night and delusion, and darkling confusion like mists from the river shall vanish for ever, and true Irish hearts with warm loyalty glow; and proud exaltation burst forth from the nation on Patrick’s day in the mornin‘.
Alexander Boswell (1775-1822)