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letra de a corsican dirge - charles villiers stanford

i set forth from the calanche
ere the dawn begins to hover
torch in hand i wander seeking
in the orchard, through the cover
seeking till i find my father
but they’ve slain him, it is ever

higher up the slope, o comrade
thou wilt find matteo sleeping;
he who lies here is my father
and this is my place for weeping
gather up his tools and bring them
with his apr-n of brown leather
father wilt thou not be going
to thy work this sunny weather?
father slain and brother wounded
they have slain them both togethеr

fetch me herе my scissors quickly
do not linger in the going
i will straight cut off my tresses
staunch with them the red wounds flowing
for my father’s blood in crimson
stains upon my hand is showing
i will steep my kerchief, father
in thy life-blood, that thereafter
i may wear it whensoever
i am moved to idle laughter
up and down the hill i wander
past the holy stations, crying
always after thee, my father:
do but speak one word replying
they have crucified him, even
like the saviour’s crucifying

- charles villiers stanford

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