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William Shakespeare
(1564 - 1616)
William Shakespeare
(1564 - 1616)
Anonymous - The Willow song (Othello, IV:3)
Ανέβηκε στις 21 Ιουν 2011
The poor soul sat sighing
By a sycamore tree,
Sing willow, willow, willow,
Wth his hand in his bosom
And his head upon his knee,
Oh, willow, willow, willow,
Shall be my garland.
Sing all a green willow,
Aye me, the green willow
Must be my garland.
He sighed in his singing
And made a great moan,
Sing, etc.
I am dead to all pleasure,
My true love he is gone, etc.
The mute bird sat by him
Was made tame by his moans, etc.
The true tears fell from him
Would have melted the stones.
Sing etc.
Come all you forsaken
And mourn you wth me.
Who speaks of a false love?
Mine's falser than she.
Sing etc.
Let Love no more boast her
In palace nor bower;
It buds but it blasteth
Ere it be a flower.
Sing etc.
Thou fair and more false,
I die with thy wound.
Thou hast lost thy truest lover
That goes upon the ground.
Sing [etc.]
Let nobody chide her,
Her scorns I approve.
She was born to be false
And I to die for love.
Sing etc.
Take this for my farewell
And latest adieu;
Write this on my tomb
That in love I was true.
Sing etc.
By a sycamore tree,
Sing willow, willow, willow,
Wth his hand in his bosom
And his head upon his knee,
Oh, willow, willow, willow,
Shall be my garland.
Sing all a green willow,
Aye me, the green willow
Must be my garland.
He sighed in his singing
And made a great moan,
Sing, etc.
I am dead to all pleasure,
My true love he is gone, etc.
The mute bird sat by him
Was made tame by his moans, etc.
The true tears fell from him
Would have melted the stones.
Sing etc.
Come all you forsaken
And mourn you wth me.
Who speaks of a false love?
Mine's falser than she.
Sing etc.
Let Love no more boast her
In palace nor bower;
It buds but it blasteth
Ere it be a flower.
Sing etc.
Thou fair and more false,
I die with thy wound.
Thou hast lost thy truest lover
That goes upon the ground.
Sing [etc.]
Let nobody chide her,
Her scorns I approve.
She was born to be false
And I to die for love.
Sing etc.
Take this for my farewell
And latest adieu;
Write this on my tomb
That in love I was true.
Sing etc.
Διονύσιος Σολωμός - Μίμηση
τοῦ τραγουδιοῦ τῆς Δεσδεμόνας
The poor soul sat etc.
(Σαίξπηρ, Ὀθέλλος, πράξη 4, 3)
Shakespeare, Othello, Act IV, Sc.3
Ἡ ἀθλία ψυχὴ καθήμενη(Σαίξπηρ, Ὀθέλλος, πράξη 4, 3)
Shakespeare, Othello, Act IV, Sc.3
σὲ χόρτο, σὲ λουλούδι,
μὲ μία φωνὴ νεκρώσιμη
ἀρχίναε τὸ τραγούδι:
«Ἐλᾶτε, τραγουδήσετε
τὴν πράσινη ἐτιά».
Ἀκίνητο τὸ χέρι της
εἰς τὴν καρδιὰ βαστάει,
τὴν κεφαλὴ στὰ γόνατα
τ᾿ ἀδύνατα ἀκουμπάει,
κι ὁ ρύαξ ἐκεῖ στὰ πόδια της
ἐφλοίσβιζε τερπνά.
«Ὅλοι, ὅλοι, τραγουδήσετε
ἐτιά, ἐτιά, ἐτιά».
Πικρὰ ἀντάμα ἐβγαίνανε
τὰ δάκρυα μὲ τὰ λόγια,
κι ἔτσι ἔλεγε ἀκατάπαυτα
βαριὰ τὰ μοιρολόγια,
ὅπου τὴν ἐλυπιόντανε
λαγκάδια καὶ βουνά.
«Ἐτιὰ νὰ τραγουδήσετε,
ἐτιὰ καὶ πάντα ἐτιά».
«Δὲ φταίει· -ψεύτη τὸν Ἔρωτα
κανεὶς ἂς μὴν τὸν κράζῃ·
ἕως ποὺ μιλεῖ τ᾿ ἀχείλι μου,
δὲ φταίει, θὲ νὰ φωνάζῃ·
γιατὶ μοῦ τὸ φανέρωσε
πὼς πλέον δὲ μ᾿ ἀγαπᾶ,
κι ἀμέσως ἐγὼ ἀρχίνησα
νὰ τραγουδάω ἐτιά.
«Μιὰ μέρα ἐγὼ τοῦ κλαύθηκα
πὼς πέφτει σ᾿ ἄλλα στήθη
κι ἐμένα μ᾿ ἀπαράτησε,
κι ἐκεῖνος μ᾿ ἀποκρίθη:
Μιμήσου με κι ἀγάπησε
ἄλλη κι ἐσὺ ἀγκαλιά.
Τί ν᾿ ἀγαπήσω ἡ δύστυχη
πάρεξ θανάτου ἐτιά!
«Δὲ θέλω νὰ μοῦ βάλουνε
εἰς τὸ στερνὸ κλινάρι
μυρτιές, οὔτε τριαντάφυλλα,
πάρεξ ἐτιᾶς κλωνάρι,
κι ἀπάνου ἀπ᾿ τὸ μνῆμα μου
ἄλλη δὲ θέλω ἰσκιά·
ὅλοι, ὅλοι τραγουδήσετε
τὴν πράσινην ἐτιά».
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