J'allais dans la campagne avec le vent
d'orage,
Sous le pâle matin, sous les nuages bas;
Un corbeau ténébreux escortait mon voyage,
Et dans les flaques d'eau retentissaient mes pas.
La foudre à l'horizon faisait courir sa flamme
Et l'Aquilon doublait ses longs gémissements;
Mais la tempête était trop faible pour mon âme,
Qui couvrait le tonnerre avec ses battements.
De la dépouille d'or du frêne et de l'érable
L'Automne composait son éclatant butin,
Et le corbeau toujours d'un vol inexorable
M'accompagnait sans rien changer à mon destin.
Belle source, je veux me rappeler sans cesse
Qu'un jour, guidé par l'amitié,
Ravi, j'ai contemplé ton visage, ô déesse,
Perdu sous la mousse à moité.
Que n'est-il demeuré, cet ami que je pleure,
O nymphe, à ton culte attaché,
Pour se mêler encore au soufle qui t'effleure,
Et répondre à ton flot caché!
Ah! fuyez à présent, malheureuses pensées,
O! colère, ô remords,
Souvenirs qui m'avez les deux tempes pressées
De l'étreinte des morts;
Sentiers de mousse pleins, vaporeuses fontaines,
Grottes profondes, voix
Des oiseaux et du vent, lumières incertaines
Des sauvages sous-bois;
Insectes, animeaux, beauté future,
Ne me repousse pas, ô divine Nature,
Je suis ton suppliant.
Le trésor du verger et le jardin en fête,
Les fleurs des champs, des bois,
Éclatent de plaisir, hélas! et sur leur tête
Le vent enfle sa voix.
Mais toi, noble Océan que l'assaut des tourmentes
Ne saurait ravager,
Certes, plus dignement, lorsque tu te lamentes,
Tu te prends à songer.
I was wandering through the countryside with the
storm wind,
in the pale morning, beneath the low clouds;
A dark raven accompanied my journey,
and my steps echoed in the puddles of water.
The lightning on the horizon sent its flame running
and the North Wind redoubled its long groanings;
but the tempest was too feeble for my soul,
which drowned the thunder with its throbbing.
The Autumn gathered its brilliant booty
from the ash's and the sycamore's spoils of gold,
and the raven, with an inexorable flight, unerringly
followed me without changing anything in my destiny.
Beautiful fountain, I wish to remember for ever
that one day, guided by friendship,
enraptured, I studied your face, o goddess,
half hidden beneath the moss.
Had he but remained, this friend for whom I weep,
o nymph, faithful to your cult,
to mingle still with the breeze that caresses you,
and to respond to your hidden waters!
Ah! Away with you now wretched thoughts,
o anger, o remorse,
memories which have pressed my two temples
with the grip of the dead;
paths of thick mosses, steamy fountains,
deep caverns, voices
of the birds and the wind, uncertain lights
of the wild undergrowth;
insects, animals, future beauty,
do not push me back, o divine Nature,
I am your suppliant.
The treasure of the orchard and the festive garden
the flowers of the fields, of the woods
burst with pleasure, alas, and over their heads
the wind fills out its voice!
But you, noble Ocean that the assault of storms
could not ravage,
certainly, with more dignity, once you lament,
you lose yourself in dreams.
© translated by Christopher Goldsack
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