Op. 8 Rachmaninov

Six Romances Op. 8 (1893)

Sergei Rachmaninov

No. 1

Water Lily

The water lily, her head Raised, looks up at the sky.And melancholy, the amorous moonIllumines her with his silver beams.

And now her head droops down againShyly toward the azure waters.

But the moon, all pale and lovelorn,Like a phantom, glimmers there too . . .

No. 2

Child! You are as Fair as a Flower

Child, you are as fair as a flower,

Bright, and pure, and dear,

I look at you and admire you,

And again my soul is alive . . .

Gladly would I lay

My hands on your small head,

Asking that God keep you

Fair and pure forever.

No. 3

Brooding

Days pass . . .nights pass;

Summer's gone; the yellowed leaf

Rustles; my eyes grow dim;

My thoughts are idle; the heart sleeps.

All's asleep . . . I wonder,

Are you alive, my soul?

I survey the world without passion,

Without tears, without laughter!

And where's my destiny? Fate,

I guess, hasn't given me one . . .

But if I don't deserve a good one,

Why didn't a bad one befall me?

Don't let me, God, as in a dream,

Wander . . . grow cold in my heart.

Don't let me be a rotten log

That lies across the path.

But let me live, Creator,

Let me live by my heart, by my heart!

So I can praise your wondrous world,

So I can love my neighbour!

Bondage is fearful! Heavy it is to bear . . .

No. 4

The Soldier's Wife

I fell in love

To my sorrow

With a poor orphan

An unlucky lad.

Such is the fate

That has befallen me.

Powerful folks

Separated us;

They took him away

Made him an army recruit . . .

And I'm a soldier's wife,

All alone,

In a stranger's hut

I'll grow old, it seems.

Oh what a fate

Has befallen me.

Ah! Ah!

No. 5

A Dream

I too had a native land;

So beautiful!

A fir tree swayed above me there . . .

But it was a dream!

My family were living friends.

And all around me

Words of love were spoken . . .

But it was a dream!

No. 6

Prayer

Oh my God!

Look down on me, a sinner;

I'm miserable, sick in spirit,

My heart is torn with remorse.

Heavenly Father, my sin is great,

There is no greater crime on earth.

His youthful blood was ardent,

His love was pure,

But he kept it secret, telling no one

For it was sacred to him.

I knew all this . . . Oh, Lord!

Forgive me, a sinner in pain.

I understood his torments;

With just a smile, a single glance,

I could have made him well,

And yet I took no pity on him.

He suffered for a long, long time,

In pain and deep sorrow;

And finally he died, poor soul.

Oh, Lord, oh, heavenly Father!

Hear my sinful prayer . . .

Behold, how my soul is in pain.