我的朋友,你能看见的地球Abo血型ve clear waters in the shade of trees? You can just hear the babbling spring against the bank; You can just feel a breeze that's wafting in the leaves; A wreath and lyre hang upon the boughs... Alas, my friends! This mound's a grave; Here earth conceals the ashes of a bard; Poor bard! A gentle soul, a simple heart He was a sojourner in the world; He'd barely bloomed, yet lost his taste for life He craved his end with yearning and excitement; And early on he met his end, He found the grave's desired sleep. Your time was but a moment - a moment sad Poor bard! He sang with tenderness of friendship to his friend, - His loyal friend cut down in his life's bloom; He sang of love - but in a doleful voice; Alas! Of love he knew naught but its woe; Now all has met with its demise, Your soul partakes of peace eternal; You slumber in your silent grave, Poor bard! Here, by this stream one eventide He sang his doleful farewell song: "O lovely world, where blossomed I in vain; Farewell forever; with a soul deceived For happiness I waited - but my dreams have died; All's perished; lyre, be still; To your serene abode, o haste, Poor bard! What's life, when charm is lacking? To know of bliss, with all the spirit's striving, Only to see oneself cut off by an abyss; Each moment to desire and yet fear desiring... O refuge of vexatious hearts, O grave, sure path to peace, When will you call to your embrace The poor bard?" The bard's no more ... his lyre's silent... All trace of him has disappeared from here; The hills and valleys mourn; And all is still ... save zephyrs soft, That stir the faded wreath, And waft betimes above the grave, A woeful lyre responds: Poor bard!