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 <dc:title xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Lament XV</dc:title>
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 <dc:contributor.editor xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xml:lang="pl">Lech, Justyna</dc:contributor.editor>
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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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 </rdf:RDF><liryka_l><autor_utworu>Jan Kochanowski</autor_utworu>




<dzielo_nadrzedne>Laments</dzielo_nadrzedne>




<nazwa_utworu>Lament XV</nazwa_utworu>




<strofa>Golden-locked Erato<pe><slowo_obce>Erato</slowo_obce> --- the Muse of lyric poetry.</pe>, and thou, sweet lute,/
The comfort of the sad and destitute,/
Calm thou my sorrow, lest I too become/
A marble pillar shedding through the dumb/
But living stone my almost bloody tears,/
A monument of grief for coming years./
For when we think of mankind's evil chance/
Does not our private grief gain temperance?/
Unhappy mother<pe><slowo_obce>Unhappy mother</slowo_obce> --- Niobe, cf. <tytul_dziela>Lament IV</tytul_dziela>.</pe> (if 'tis evil hap/
We blame when caught in our own folly's trap)/
Where are thy sons and daughters, seven each,/
The joyful cause of thy too boastful speech?/
I see their fourteen stones, and thou, alas,/
Who from thy misery wouldst gladly pass/
To death, dost kiss the tombs, O wretched one,/
Where lies thy fruit so cruelly undone./
Thus blossoms fall where some keen sickle passes/
And so, when rain doth level them, green grasses./
What hope canst thou yet harbor in thee? Why/
Dost thou not drive thy sorrow hence and die?/
And thy swift arrows, Phoebus<pe><slowo_obce>Phoebus</slowo_obce> --- Apollo, Greek god of sun.</pe>, what do they?/
And thine unerring bow, Diana<pe><slowo_obce>Diana</slowo_obce> --- Roman goddess of the moon, the hunt, and chastity; her Greek counterpart is Artemis.</pe>? Slay/
Her, ye avenging gods, if not in rage,/
Then out of pity for her desolate age./
A punishment for pride before unknown/
Hath fallen: Niobe is turned to stone,/
And borne in whirlwind arms o'er seas and lands,/
On Sipylus<pe><slowo_obce>Sipylus</slowo_obce> --- a mountain often mentioned in Greek mythology, presently Mount Spil in Turkey.</pe> in deathless marble stands./
Yet from her living wounds a crystal fountain/
Of tears flows through the rock and down the mountain,/
Whence beast and bird may drink; but she, in chains,/
Fixed in the path of all the winds remains./
This tomb holds naught, this woman hath no tomb:/
To be both grave and body is her doom.</strofa>


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