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<dc:creator xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Kochanowski, Jan</dc:creator>
<dc:title xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Lament VI</dc:title>
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<dc:contributor.translator xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Prall, Dorothea</dc:contributor.translator>
<dc:contributor.editor xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Kozioł, Paweł</dc:contributor.editor>
<dc:contributor.editor xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Lech, Justyna</dc:contributor.editor>
<dc:contributor.technical_editor xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Niedziałkowska, Marta</dc:contributor.technical_editor>
<dc:publisher xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Fundacja Nowoczesna Polska</dc:publisher>
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<dc:description xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Publikacja  zrealizowana  w  ramach projektu Wolne Lektury (http://wolnelektury.pl).  Reprodukcja  cyfrowa wykonana przez Bibliotekę Narodową z egzemplarza  pochodzącego ze  zbiorów BN. Dofinansowano ze środków Ministra Kultury i Dziedzictwa Narodowego.</dc:description>
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<dc:source xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Jan Kochanowski, Laments, University of California Press, Berkeley 1920.</dc:source>
<dc:rights xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Domena publiczna - Dorothea Prall</dc:rights>
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<dc:date xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">2014-11-18</dc:date>
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<dc:relation.coverImage.attribution xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">Mandolin or Lute?, Justin Warner, CC BY-SA 2.0</dc:relation.coverImage.attribution>
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</rdf:RDF><liryka_l><autor_utworu>Jan Kochanowski</autor_utworu>




<dzielo_nadrzedne>Laments</dzielo_nadrzedne>




<nazwa_utworu>Lament VI</nazwa_utworu>




<strofa>Dear little Slavic Sappho<pe><slowo_obce>Sappho</slowo_obce> (c. 612 BC--c. 570 BC) --- a female Greek lyric poet.</pe>, we had thought,/
Hearing thy songs so sweetly, deftly wrought,/
That thou shouldst have an heritage one day/
Beyond thy father's lands: his lute to play./
For not an hour of daylight's joyous round/
But thou didst fill it full of lovely sound,/
Just as the nightingale doth scatter pleasure/
Upon the dark, in glad unstinted measure./
Then Death came stalking near thee, timid thing,/
And thou in sudden terror tookest wing./
Ah, that delight, it was not overlong/
And I pay dear with sorrow for brief song./
Thou still wert singing when thou cam'st to die;/
Kissing thy mother, thus thou saidst good-bye:/

<wers_wciety typ="1">«My mother, I shall serve thee now no more</wers_wciety>/
Nor sit about thy table's charming store;/
I must lay down my keys to go from here,/
To leave the mansion of my parents dear.»/

<wers_wciety typ="1">This and what sorrow now will let me tell</wers_wciety>/
No longer, were my darling's last farewell./
Ah, strong her mother's heart, to feel the pain/
Of those last words and not to burst in twain.</strofa>


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