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Click the pointer   by the left side of each poem to see the Russian translation

Anthony Holborne (1584-1602)

Words by Sir George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland


My heavie sprite opprest with sorrowes might

My heavie sprite opprest with sorrowes might,

Of wearied limbs the burthen soare sustaines,

With silent grones and harts tears still complaines,

Yet I breath still and live in lifes despight.

Have I lost thee? All fortunes I accurse,

Bids thee farewell, with thee all joyes farewell,

And for thy sake this world becomes my hell.

John Dowland (1563 - 1626)


Sorrow, stay

Sorrow, Stay, lend true repentant tears,

To a woeful wretched wight,

Hence, Despair with thy tormenting fears:

O do not my poor heart affright.

Pity, help now or never,

Mark me not to endless pain,

Alas I am condemned ever,

No hope, no help there doth remain,

But down, down, down, down I fall,

And arise I never shall.


In darkness let me dwell

In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be,

The roof despair to bar all cheerful light from me,

The walls of marble black that moistend still shall weep,

My music hellish jarring sounds, to banish friendly sleep.

Thus wedded to my woes, and bedded to my tomb,

O, let me, living, living, die, till death do come.

(In darkness let me dwell.)


O what hath overwrought

O what hath overwrought

My all amazed thought?

Or whereto am I brought,

That thus in vain have sought

Till Time and Truth hath taught,

I labour all for nought?


The day I see is clear,

But I am neer the near,

For grief doth still appear,

To cross our merry cheer,

While I can nothing hear,

But winter all the year.


Cold, hold,

The sun will shine warm,

Therefore now fear no harm.

O blessed beams,

Where beauty streams

Happy happy light to loves dreams.


Me, me, and none but me

Me, me, and none but me, dart home, O gentle Death,

And quickly, for I draw too long this idle breath:

O how I long till I may fly to heavn above,

Unto my faithful and beloved turtle dove.


Like to the silver swan, before my death I sing:

And yet alive my fatal knell I help to ring.

Still I desire from earth and earthly joys to fly,

He never happy livd that cannot love to die.


Toss not my soul

Toss not my soul, O love twixt hope and fear,

Show me some ground where I may firmly stand

Or surely fall, I care not which appear,

So one will close me in a certain band.

When once of ill the uttermost is known,

The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown.


Take me Assurance to thy blissful hold,

Or thou Despair unto thy darkest cell.

Each hath full rest, the one in joys enrolled,

Thother, in that he fears no more, is well:

When once of ill the utter most is known,

The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown.

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