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| Traduzione inglese 2 / English translation 2 / Traduction anglaise... |
| THE BEGGAR FROM LUOSSA | ROUND THE BEGGAR OF LUOSSA |
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| From Luossa came a beggar singing to the village folk. | Round the beggar of Luossa all the people formed a ring, |
| Round the watch fire they lingered while he sang | in the firelight they listened to his song. |
| Songs of pilgrims and of beggars, of wondrous, wondrous things | And he sang of tramps and roadsters and of many a wondrous thing |
| And of his yearning did he sing the whole night long. | and he sang about his yearning all night long: |
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| »There is something beyond mountains, beyond stars and all the blossoms, | »There is something which is hidden beyond mountains and the song, |
| Something, too, behind my song, behind this burning heart of mine. | behind stars and flowers and my burning heart. |
| Listen - something goes and whispers, goes and lures me and beseeches | Listen - something there is whispering, enticing me and praying: |
| "Come to us, for earth below is not the kingdom that is thine!" | "Come to us, because on earth is not for you to play your part!" |
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| I have listened to the lapping of waves upon the shore, | I have listened to the peaceful beats of waves against a shore, |
| I have dreamed that the wildest seas were calm and still. | I have dreamt of violent waters' quiet rest. |
| And in spirit I have hurried to that contourless land, | And my spirit sometimes hurried to a land we never saw, |
| Where the dearest we have known we'll know no more. | where we lose the things that we have loved the best. |
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| To a wild, eternal longing were we born of ash-pale mothers, | To a wild and lasting yearning we were born by sickly mothers, |
| And from travail, anxious, painful, rose our first, our wailing cry | and the birth of trouble struck us our earliest wailing chord. |
| Were we tossed on plain and hillside, just to tumble round and frolic, | Thrown we were on plains and mountains to play games with one another, |
| Then we played at elk and lion, beggar, God and butterfly. | and we played at elk and lion, moth and beggar and the Lord. |
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| Did I sit beside her, silent, she whose heart was as my own, | I was quiet by her side, the girl whose heart and mine are one, |
| Did she tend our home with soft and gentle hands, | and she cared for our home with love and ease |
| Loudly was my own heart shouting, "What you own there is not yours!" | and I heard my heart cry out: "It isn't yours what you have won!" |
| And my spirit drove me onward to find peace. | And the spirit took me off and gave me peace. |
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| What I love is lying yonder, lies concealed in dusky distance, | It's beyond and hidden deep in distant darkness what I love, |
| And my rightful way leads high to wonders there. | and my road of life is high and heavenly blessed. |
| In this clamor I am tempted to beseech Him, "Lord, O Master, | And I'm tempted in the chaos to pray to the Lord above: |
| Take all earth away, for own I will what no one, no one has." | "Take away the earth I want to own what no one e'er possessed!" |
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| Join me, brother, beyond mountains with their still and cooling rivers, | Come with me beyond the hills and gentle rivers, dear brother, |
| Where the sea is slow to slumber in its peak-encircled bed. | where the waters fall asleep inside their mountain-guarded nest. |
| Somewhere far beyond the heavens lies my home, have I my mother | Somewhere far beyond the skies I have my home and my good mother, |
| In a gold-besprinkled vapor, in rose-tinted mantle clad. | in the golden shining haze and in a rosy garment dressed. |
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| May the black and brackish waters cool our cheeks with fever reddened, | Let the black and salty waters freshen cheeks of rosy fever, |
| May we be from life far distant where the morning is awake | let's be miles away from life before this dawn's begun to break! |
| Never was I one with this world, and unending tribulation | I was not an earthly creature and a restless disbeliever |
| Suffered, restless, unbelieving, suffered from my burning heart. | and I suffered for my lack of faith and for my passion's sake. |
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| On a seashore sown with cockles stands a gate with roses laden, | On a shell-strewn sandy beach where heavy roses form a gate, |
| Where in slumber, vagrants perish and all weary souls find peace. | resting wrecks can moulder slowly and exhausted men find peace. |
| Song is never heard resounding, viols never echo, ringing | Unknown songs are sung like music echoing violins create |
| Under arches where forever cherubs of salvation dwell.« | under arches where the blessed live whose youth will never cease.« |
