Incantations Part 2 |
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hudba: Mike Oldfield text: Henry W. Longfellow (1807-1882) - pasáže básně "The song of Hiawatha" zpěv: Maddy Prior |
album: Incantations |
Diana, Luna, Lucina Diana, Luna, Lucina Diana, Luna, Lucina |
Lune |
Diana, Luna, Lucina Diana, Luna, Lucina Diana, Luna, Lucina |
Lune, Lune |
Diana, Luna, Lucina Diana, Luna, Lucina |
Lune |
Hiawatha's Departure |
By the shores of Gitche Gumee By the shining Big-Sea-Water At the doorway of the wigwam In the early summer morning Hiawatha stood and waited All the air was full of freshness All the Earth was bright and joyous And before him, through the sunshine Westward toward the neighbouring forest Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo Passed the bees, the honey-maker Burning, singing in the sunshine |
Bright above him shone the heavens Level spread the lake before him From its bosom leaped the sturgeon Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine On its margrin the great forest Stood reflected in the water Every tree-top had its shadow Motionless beneath the water |
From the brow of Hiawatha Gone was every trace of sorrow As the fog from off the water As the mist from off the meadow Stood and waited Hiawatha |
Toward the sun his hands were lifted Both the palms spread out toward it And between the parted fingers Fell the sunshine on his features Flecked with light his naked shoulders As is falls and flecks an oak-tree Through the rifted leaves and branches |
O'er the water floating, flying Something in the hazy distance Something in the mist of morning Loomed and lifted from the water Now seemed floating, now seemed flying Coming nearer, nearer, nearer |
Was it Shingebis the diver? Or the pelican, the Shada? Or the heron, the Shu-shu-gha? Or the white goose, Waw-be-wana With the water dripping, flashing From its glossy neck and features? |
It was neither goose nor diver Neither pelican nor heron O'er the water floating, flying Through the shining mist of morning But a birch canoe with paddles Rising, sinking on the water Dripping, flashing in the sunshine And within it came a people |
The Son Of The Evening Star |
Can it be the sun descending? O'er the level plain of water? Or the Red Swan floating, flying Wounded by the magic arrow Staining all the waves with crimson With the crimson of its life-blood Filling all the air with splendor Filling all the air with plumage |
Yes, it is the sun descending Sinking down into the water All the sky is stained with purple All the water flushed with crimson No, it is the Red Swan floating Diving down beneath the water To the sky its wings are lifted With its blood the waves are reddened |
Over it the Star of Evening Melts and trembles through the purple Hangs suspended in the twilight Walks in silence through the heavens |