from the oratorio Il fonte della salute aperto dalla grazia nel Calvario

Kochałem Panią
Na wzgórzach Gruzji
Ostatni raz

Nie płacz nade mną
Z Erotyków
Mów do mnie jeszcze
Śpi w blaskach
Przed nocą wieczną
Na spokojnym, ciemnym morzu
W wieczorną ciszę
Smutną jest dusza moja
Skąd pierwsze gwiazdy
Czasem gdy długo na pół sennie marze
Zaczarowana królewna

Non t’amo per il ciel
che puoi donarmi
ma sol perché d’amor,
tu, il fonte sei,
e sol perché l’amarti
è un dover mio

Né temo del tuo sdegno
il braccio e l’armi
per un servil timor
de’ danni miei
ma sol perché temer
deggio il mio Dio.

Music for a while
Shall all your cares beguile.

II. Na wzgórzach Gruzji
Na wzgórzach Gruzji leży nocna mgła,
U moich stóp Aragwa szumi pienna.
Smutno i lekko mi. Tęsknota ma
Świetlana jest i ciebie pełna.

Ciebie jedynej! Smutkiem moich snów
Już cię nie dręczę więcej i nie trwożę,
I serce płonie, serce kocha znów,
Nie kochać bowiem – już nie może

III. Ostatni raz
Ostatni raz twą postać miłą
Ważę się myślą tulić dziś
I wskrzeszać sny serdeczną siłą,
Żałością tkliwą i wstydliwą
O twej miłości budzić myśl.

Mijają lata i niestety
Zmieniają świat, zmieniają nas!
W mogilnym mroku, w głębi Lety
widzi cię dzisiaj wzrok poety,
Lecz i poeta tobie zgasł.

Więc mego serca pożegnanie
Przyjmij, daleka! Czoło skłoń
Jak żona, gdy się wdową stanie,
Jak wierny druh, co przed wygnaniem
Bez słowa ściska bratnią dłoń.

I. I loved you
I loved you, and remnants of my love
Might well still flicker in my soul,
But don’t let that trouble you;
I don’t want to sadden you even with this thought.

I loved humbly and without hope,
Tormented by bashful, jealous fears,
So tenderly, so truly, that Heaven grant
Another man might love you so.

II. Over the hills of Georgia
Over the hills of Georgia lies a nocturnal mist,
At my feet roars the foaming Aragvi.
I feel both sorrowful and light-hearted. My yearning
Is refulgent and full of you.

Of you alone! I’ll no longer trouble or concern you
With the sadness of my dreams,
And my heart is on fi re once more, my heart loves again,
For not to love – of that it is now incapable.

III. For the last time
For the last time I venture, in imagination,
To embrace your darling form today
And by force of affection to rekindle dreams,
With anguished, bashful tenderness
To waken thoughts of your love.

The years are passing, and sadly,
They are changing the world, they are changing us!
In the darkness of the grave, in Lethe’s depths
Your poet envisions you today,
But for you, even the poet has faded.

And so accept my heart’s farewell,
Distant one! Bow your head
Like a wife when she becomes a widow,
Like a faithful companion who, before going into exile,
Wordlessly clasps his brother’s hand.

Don’t cry over me, my golden princess,
Even though my breast is stricken with longing;
Even though all is sad and dark within my soul,
Don’t cry over me.

Don’t cry over me, may the sound of your pure voice
Float to me in my dreams,
Rid your heart of futile longing,
Don’t cry over me.

And instead of suns and stars, my darling angel,
I only lay endless tears at your feet today.
Forgive the poverty of my heart’s upwelling,
But at least accept the tears, because these tears are my tears.

Speak to me still…From far away, from far away
Your voice floats to me on the breeze,
I cherish your every word as I would a flower,
Speak to me still…

Speak to me still…These words flowing toward me
Are like a prayer at my coffin,
And in the heart of death they make me thrill.
Speak to me still…

The ocean depths are slumbering in the radiance of the night,
The waves murmur faintly,
But my heart is so heavy –
I am remembering ancient sorrows,
And those rumors of times long past,
Of the groaning of sunken cities,
And from the bottom of the sea I hear, in the night,
Prayers and the sound of tolling bells.
But such cities will no longer be saved
By prayers and the tolling of bells,
For what death has once taken hold of
Will never return to life.

Before the eternal night, may I discern your voice
Like a song of hope in my final hour,
And perhaps then, above the silence of the grave,
I shall be visited by the pale moon of resurrection.

But if, weeping, you lay your silent hands
On my unseeing eyes like flowers,
The grave will flame with fire, and I will be surrounded
By a hundred lightning flashes from eternal suns.

Naokoło niech mi cicho,
niech mi sennie przestwór dźwięczy
i niech ciemne głębie w słońcu
kolorami grają tęczy.

Tam, tysiące mil od brzegu,
na bezdeni, pod jasnością,
patrząc w niebo nieruchome
niech upajam się nicością

Upon the calm, dark ocean
I would fly now, in a boat,
To where there are no more white sails,
And the hum of ships does not reach.

I would cast from my shoulders
Into the watery depths
All the weight that is bending and toppling me
And ride the dark wave.

Let there be silence all around me,
Let me be lulled by the soporific sound of the vastness,’
And let the colors of the rainbow
Play over the dark depths in the sunlight.

There, thousands of miles from shore,
Out on the deep, under that brightness,
Looking up at the motionless sky,
Let me become intoxicated by nothingness.

In the evening stillness I can hear, from afar,
Rivers murmuring softly;
My thoughts are slowly lulled to sleep
By the distant, quiet murmur.

Slowly and drowsily my thoughts flow
Into the infinite vastness of the universe,
Flow to the stars shining brightly,
And are lost in the dark emptiness.

My soul is sorrowful unto death –
I lower my hands, come what may,
Now no further blow can pierce my brain,
For I have already banished all hope from it.

And here I stand, silent as in a dream,
Over the shattered urn of my desires.
But that I had to cast them in the dust so soon,
My soul is sorrowful unto death.

Where the first stars light up the heavens,
That’s where I shall go, as far as the edge of the dark cliff.
I shall direct my gaze at the swans flying across the sky
And fly whither they fly.

For both here and there, beyond the sea and everywhere
I might go, my wretched thoughts are before me,
I am always sad, and it makes no difference to me where I am,
And it is hard for me everywhere, and I know it will be hard.

Sometimes, when I spend a long time dreaming, half asleep,
A gorgeous woman’s voice floats to me from somewhere,
Singing songs like an angel,
More beautiful than all the songs in the world.

To that voice I listen raptly, with all my soul,
Longing tears my heart from my breast.
I would follow it anywhere! Anywhere…I know not
Whether it is love or death that speaks thus.

Marzy o jednym z rycerzy,
Że idąc przez odmęty,
Do stóp jej tu przybieży
I przerwie sen zaklęty.

Lecz rycerz, co walczył dla niej,
Ten męstwo swe przeceniał –
Zabłąkał się w otchłani…
I zwątpił…i skamieniał.

An enchanted princess
Sleeps in the myrtle grove;
At her feet a melodious lute
Has slipped to the ground.

A little unfinished song
Lights up her face with a smile;
Her dainty lips are still trembling –
She is dreaming of something delightful.

She is dreaming of one of the knights,
And that, crossing the deep,
He will come rushing to her feet
And break her enchanted slumber.

But the knight who was fighting for her
Overestimated his bravery –
He got lost in the abyss…
And was overcome by despair…and turned to stone.

O solitary, bitter tear,
Why do you moisten my eye?
You are the only one left
To remind me of spring days!
Whole fountains of your dear sisters
Flowed from these eyelids,
But the cold wind dispersed them
Amidst bad, sleepless nights.

And in the clouds they scattered
Those golden stars
That radiated for me
Love and longing.
When the storms of passion
Vanished like fine mist,
Why did you remain,
O tear from times gone by?

Gładko idzie przędza, wesoło dziewczynie,
Pamiętała trzy dni o wiernym chłopczynie.
Kręć się, kręć, wrzeciono,etc.

Inny się młodzieniec podsuwa z ubocza,
I innemu rada dziewczyna ochocza.
Kręć się, kręć, wrzeciono,
Prysła wątła nić;
Wstydem dziewczę płonie,
Wstydź się, dziewczę, wstydź!

The girls sit at their distaffs like angels,
They are spinning for themselves – spinning fi ne silken threads.
Turn, turn, spindle,
Twine and twist!
The one with the best memory
Is the one with the longest thread!

A youth went to Königsberg on a barge,
He drenched himself in tears saying goodbye to his girl.
Turn, turn, spindle, etc.

The yarn is running smoothly, the girl is merry,
She remembered the faithful young lad for three days.
Turn, turn, spindle, etc.

Another youth sidles up from the sidelines
And the eager girl turns to him.
Turn, turn, spindle,
The frail thread split;
The girl will burn with shame,
Shame on you, girl, shame!