Michele Laporte

Glinka

Le pauvre chanteur

O lovely world, where blossomed I in vain; Farewell forever; with a soul deceived For happiness I waited - but my dreams have died; All's perished; lyre, be still; To your serene abode, o haste, Poor bard! What's life, when charm is lacking? To know of bliss, with all the spirit's striving, Only to see oneself cut off by an abyss; Each moment to desire and yet fear desiring... O refuge of vexatious hearts, O grave, sure path to peace, When will you call to your embrace The poor bard?