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    , Fortune, Henry Wadswoth Longfellow, , ,   


    The Village Blacksmith 

    Under a spreading chestnut-tree
    The village smithy stands;
    The smith, a mighty man is he,
    With large and sinewy hands;
    And the muscles of his brawny arms
    Are strong as iron bands.

    His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
    His face is like the tan;
    His brow is wet with honest sweat,
    He earns whate’er he can,
    And looks the whole world in the face,
    For he owes not any man.

    Week in, week out, from morn till night,
    You can hear his bellows blow;
    You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
    With measured beat and slow,
    Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
    When the evening sun is low.

    And children coming home from school
    Look in at the open door;
    They love to see the flaming forge,
    And hear the bellows roar,
    And catch the burning sparks that fly
    Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

    He goes on Sunday to the church,
    And sits among his boys;
    He hears the parson pray and preach,
    He hears his daughter’s voice,
    Singing in the village choir,
    And it makes his heart rejoice.

    It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
    Singing in Paradise!
    He needs must think of her once more,
    How in the grave she lies;
    And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
    A tear out of his eyes.

    Toiling,–rejoicing,–sorrowing,
    Onward through life he goes;
    Each morning sees some task begin,
    Each evening sees it close
    Something attempted, something done,
    Has earned a night’s repose.

    Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
    For the lesson thou hast taught!
    Thus at the flaming forge of life
    Our fortunes must be wrought;
    Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
    Each burning deed and thought.



     
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    Carmina Burana, Fortune, , O Fortuna, , Translation   


    O Fortuna – Lyrics and meaning 

    O Fortuna
    Oh! Fortuna!

    velut luna
    like the moon

    statu variabilis,
    your state varies,

    semper crescis
    always either in ascendancy

    aut decrescis;
    or in descendancy;

    vita detestabilis
    detestable life

    nunc obdurat
    now hard

    et tunc curat
    and then providing

    ludo mentis aciem,
    with sharpness of mind in its game,

    egestatem,
    poverty,

    potestatem
    power

    dissolvit ut glaciem.
    dissolved like melting ice.

     

    Sors immanis
    Fate – monstrous

    et inanis,
    and empty,

    rota tu volubilis,
    you ever turning wheel,

    status malus,
    evil state,

    vana salus
    empty salutation

    semper dissolubilis,
    amounting to nothing,

    obumbrata
    in shadow

    et velata
    and in veil

    michi quoque niteris;
    you likewise advance upon me;

    nunc per ludum
    now with your games

    dorsum nudum
    bare-backed am I

    fero tui sceleris.
    by your wickedness.

     

    Sors salutis
    Fate, in health

    et virtutis
    and in virtue,

    michi nunc contraria,
    is against me,

    est affectus
    driven on

    et defectus
    and weighted down,

    semper in angaria.
    always enslaved.

    Hac in hora
    So at this hour

    sine mora
    without delay

    corde pulsum tangite;
    pluck the vibrating string;

    quod per sortem
    since Fate

    sternit fortem,
    strikes down the strong man,

    mecum omnes plangite!
    everyone weep with me!

     

    From David Parlett’s translation of Carmina Burana

    http://www.davpar.eu/cburana/cb2fort.html

    O how Fortune, inopportune,
    apes the moon’s inconstancy:
    waxing, waning, losing, gaining,
    life treats us detestably:
    first oppressing then caressing
    shifts us like pawns in its play:
    destitution, restitution,
    melting them like ice away.

    Fate, as vicious as capricious,
    you’re a wheel whirling around:
    evil doings, worthless wooings,
    crumble away to the ground:
    darkly stealing, unrevealing,
    working against me you go:
    for your measure of foul pleasure
    bare-backed I bow to your blow.

    Noble actions, fair transactions,
    no longer fall to my lot:
    powers that make me only to break me
    all play their parts in your plot:
    now it’s your time – waste no more time,
    pluck these poor strings and let go:
    since the strongest fall the longest
    may the world share in my woe!



     
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