'TIS EVE ON THE HILLSIDE
'Tis eve on the hillside, the bagpipes are
Flocks going homewards, and stars o'er the
Sound of the bubbling spring sorrow's legend
And beneath a tall willow for me, dear one,
you are waiting.
The wandering moon up the heavens her journey
Big-eyed you watch through the boughs her
gold lantern ascending,
Now over the dome of the sky all the planets
And heavy your breast with its longing, your
brow with its dreaming.
Cornfields bright flooded with beams by the
clouds steeply drifted,
Old cottage gables of thatch to the moonlight
The tall wooden arm of the well in the wind
And the shepherd-boy's pipe from the sheep-pen
sad "doina" relating.
The peasants, their scythes on their backs,
from their labour are coming,
The sound of the "toaca" its summons more
loudly is drumming,
While the clang of the village church bell
fills the evening entire,
And with longing for you like a faggot my
soul is on fire.
O, soon will the village be silent and scarce
a light burning,
O, soon eager steps to the hillside again
I'll be turning,
And all the night long I will clasp you in
love's hungry fashion,
And in secret we'll tell to each other the
tale of our passion.
Till at last we will fall fast asleep neath
the shade of that willow,
English version by Corneliu M.
Transcribed by Catalina Stoica
School No. 10, Focsani, Romania
Your lips drawn aside in a smile and your
breast for my pillow,
O, to live one such beautiful night all these
And barter the rest of existence, who would
not be willing?