Foto: © Albert Hagenaars | Siauliai | Litouwen
Uit de collectie Mellendijk (keuze dichter en gedicht) J. Mačiulis | Maironis
SONG OF ANTIQUITY
Word is here, from as far as Vilnius: Saddle the steed.
In Marienburg Teutonic knights move to destroy us.
Goodbye, dear heart, my sister! Be still. Wait for me.
If I not perish, I shall return, joyous.
In Marienburg Teutonic knights move to destroy us.
Goodbye, dear heart, my sister! Be still. Wait for me.
If I not perish, I shall return, joyous.
A long time now, Teutons gather their precious wealth:
gold spires, and chests of silk, soft to the feel.
Dear love, you'll have a silk scarf and a belt of gold,
and I, a Prussian sword of tempered steel.
gold spires, and chests of silk, soft to the feel.
Dear love, you'll have a silk scarf and a belt of gold,
and I, a Prussian sword of tempered steel.
Spring's dawn has broken, and the lark sings on forever.
Where is my lad, my love? Why does he not return?
At sunset there was battle. Blood poured down and wasted.
My love fell for his homeland. And I mourn.
Where is my lad, my love? Why does he not return?
At sunset there was battle. Blood poured down and wasted.
My love fell for his homeland. And I mourn.
Ladies, companions, sing their joy, adorned in silks.
My tears burst out and shine. I see the graveyard stand.
Dearest one, you'll not speak small words of love to me,
nor slip the golden ring on a white hand.
My tears burst out and shine. I see the graveyard stand.
Dearest one, you'll not speak small words of love to me,
nor slip the golden ring on a white hand.
J. Mačiulis
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