TRANSLATIONS

Imwunderschonen Monat Mai                                          Di Provenza il mar

In the wonderously beautiful month of May,                                 The sea and soil of Provence

When all the buds burst open.                                          Who has erased them from your heart?

Then in my heart                                                                  From your native, fulsome sun --

Love unfolded too.                                                              What destiny stole you away?

Oh, remember in your sorrow

In the wonderously beautiful month of May,                 that joy glowed on you,

When all the birds sang,                                                     and that only there peace

Then I confessed to her,                                                     can yet shine upon you.

My yearning and my longing.                                           God has guided me!

Aus Meinen Tranen spriessen                                          Ah, your old father—

From my tears sprout forth                                                 You don’t know how much he has suffered!

Many blooming flowers.                                                     With you far away, with misery

And my sighs become                                                        has his house become full.

A choir of nightingales,                                                      But if in the end I find you again,

And if you are fond of me, little one,                                if hope did not fail within me,

I will give you all the flowers,                                            if the voice of honor

And before your window shall ring                                  didn’t become silenced in you

The song of the nightingale.                                              God has heard me!

Madamina il catalogo e’questo                                         Habanera

Pray behold, ma’am!                                                            Love is a wold bird that cannot be tamed,

In this long list I’ve made, is                                              And it is quite in vain that one calls him.

An account of my master’s fair ladies!                             If it suit him to refuse,

Not Jove so renowned for his trade is:                             Nothing avails, threat or prayer

Pray observe it, and read it with me!                 One speaks well, the other is silent;

                                                                                                And it is the other that I prefer.

First in Italy, ma’am, seven hundred,                                He said nothing; but I like him.

Then in Germany, eight may be numbered;

Then in Turkey and France, one and ninety.                  Love is free like a gypsy.

But, but, in Spain, ma’am,                                                   It has never, never known any law,

One thousand and three!                                                    If you do not love me, I love you

                                                                                                If I love you, beware!

Here are chambermaids by dozens.                                   But if I love you, if I love you, beware!

City dames and country cousins;

Countesses and Baronesses,                                             The bird that you thought you were capturing
Marchionesses and Princesses,                                        fluttered its wings and took flight;

All descriptions, ages, classes,                                         When love is distant, you expect it in vain.

Not a woman could go free.                                               When you no longer expect it, it is here

First the fair ones he bewitches                                         All around you quickly, quickly,

By the softness of his speeches,                                      It comes, it goes away, then it returns;

Makes the brown one’s in a fever,                                    When you think you hold it, it evades you.

Warmly vowing love forever!                                            When you think you evade it, it holds you.

With the pale ones he will languish,

Melt and sigh in tender anguish;

The great and tall ones sometimes warm him,

High and low, ma’am, old and young, ma’am,

Own the music of this tongue, ma’am,

I know he’d give the choice to youth, ma’am,

But ugly, pretty, fat, or thin-

Something a petticoat within!

It matters not, for, short or tall,

It is very plain he loves them all!