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     ù»ç¶û                                       Verlust
     µéÀå¹Ì                                       The HeathRose(çÈæ»)
     Åø·¹ÀÇ ÀÓ±Ý´Ô                             The King Of Thule(çÈæ»)
     ¸ñÀÚź½ÄÀÇ ³ë·¡                         The Shepherd's Lament(çÈæ»)
     ¿À¿ùÀÇ ³ë·¡                                 May Song(çÈæ»)
     ´«¹°Á¥Àº »§À» ¸Ô¾îº» Àû ¾ø´Â ÀÚ   WHO Never Ate With Tears His Bread(çÈæ»)
     ¸¶¿Õ                                         The Erl-King(çÈæ»)
     ¹Ì´¨¿¡°Ô                                     To Mignon(çÈæ»)
     ³ª±×³×ÀÇ ¹ã³ë·¡                         The Wanderer's Night-Song(çÈæ»)
     ½ÅºñÀÇ ÇÕâ                                 Chorus Mystics(çÈæ»)
 


 Ã¹ »ç ¶û
 
               - ±«Å×


¾Æ - ´©°¡ ±× ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ³¯À» °¡Á®´Ù ÁÙ °ÍÀ̳Ä,
Àú ù»ç¶ûÀÇ ³¯À».

¾Æ - ´©°¡ ±× ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ¶§¸¦ µ¹·Á ÁÙ °ÍÀ̳Ä,
Àú »ç¶û½º·¯¿î ¶§¸¦.

¾µ¾µÈ÷ ³ª´Â ÀÌ »óó¸¦ ±â¸£°í ÀÖ´Ù.
²÷ÀÓ¾øÀÌ »õ·Î¿öÁö´Â ÇÑź°ú ´õºÒ¾î

ÀÒ¾î ¹ö¸° ÇູÀ» ½½ÆÛÇÑ´Ù.

¾Æ - ´©°¡ ±× ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ³¯À» °¡Á®´Ù ÁÙ °ÍÀ̳Ä!

±× Áñ°Å¿î ¶§¸¦.



Verlust

                 - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

 
Ach wer bringt die schonen Tage,

Jene Tage der ersten Liebe,

Ach wer bringt nur eine Stunde

Jener holden Zeit zuruck:

Einsam nahr ich meine Wunde,

Und mit stets erneuter Klage

Traur ich ums verlorne Gluck.

Ach wer bringt die schonen Tage,

Jene holde Zeit zuruck!



µéÀå¹Ì

                               - ±«Å×


¾î¸°ÀÌ´Â ÇÑ ¶³±â Àå¹Ì º¸¾Ò³×
µé¿¡ ÇǾî ÀÖ´Â Àå¹Ì

ÇǾ Çâ±ßÇÑ ¾ÆÄ§ÀÇ Çâ±â
´Þ·Á°¡ ¶³±â ¼ÓÀ» ¹Ù¶óº¸¾Ò³×.

¿ôÀ½ ¸Ó±ÝÀº Àå¹Ì

Àå¹Ì Àå¹Ì ºÓÀº Àå¹Ì
µé¿¡ ÇǾî ÀÖ´Â Àå¹Ì.


¾î¸°ÀÌ´Â ¸»Çß³×, ³ª´Â ²ª°Ú´Ù
µé¿¡ ÇǾî ÀÖ´Â Àå¹Ì.

Àå¹Ì²ÉÀº ¸»Çß³×, ³Ê¸¦ Â¸®.
µÎ°í µÎ°í ±× ²ÉÀ» º¸±â À§ÇÏ¿©

¸¶Ä§³» ±× Àå¹Ì¸¦ ²ª°í ¸»¾Ò³×.

Àå¹Ì Àå¹Ì ºÓÀº Àå¹Ì
µé¿¡ ÇǾî ÀÖ´Â Àå¹Ì.


°³±¸ÀåÀÌ ¾î¸°ÀÌ´Â ²ª°í ¸»¾Ò³×
µé¿¡ ÇǾî ÀÖ´Â Àå¹Ì.

°¡½Ã·Î ¾î¸°À̸¦ Â°í
²ªÀÌÁö ¾ÊÀ¸·Á ¸öºÎ¸²ÃÆÀ¸³ª

³¡³» ²ªÀÌ°í ¸»¾Ò³×.

Àå¹Ì Àå¹Ì ºÓÀº Àå¹Ì
µé¿¡ ÇǾî ÀÖ´Â Àå¹Ì.



The HeathRose

           - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


ONCE a boy a Rosebud spied,

Heathrose fair and tender,

All array'd in youthful pride,--

Quickly to the spot he hied,

Ravished by her splendour.

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,

Heathrose fair and tender!


Said the boy, "I'll now pick thee,

Heathrose fair and tender!"

Said the rosebud, "I'll prick thee,

So that thou'lt remember me,

Ne'er will I surrender!"

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,

Heathrose fair and tender!


Now the cruel boy must pick

Heathrose fair and tender;

Rosebud did her best to prick,--

Vain 'twas 'gainst her fate to kick--

She must needs surrender.

Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,

Heathrose fair and tender!



Åø·¹ÀÇ ÀӱݴÔ

                 - ±«Å×


¿¾³¯ ¿¹Àû Åø·¹¿¡ ÇÑ ÀӱݴÔÀÌ »ç¼ÌÁö,

Á×À» ¶§±îÁö º¯ÇÔ¾øÀÌ Á¤¼ºÀ» ¹ÙÃÄ
»ç¶ûÇÏ´ø ¿Õºñ°¡ ¼¼»óÀ» ¶°³ª¸ç

Ȳ±Ý ¼úÀÜ Çϳª¸¦ ³²±â°í °¡¼ÌÁö.


±×º¸´Ù ´õ ¼ÒÁßÇÑ °ÍÀº ¾ø¾î¼­

ÀÜÄ¡ ¶§¸¶´Ù ±× ÀÜÀ» ¾²½Ã°í
±×°É·Î ¼úÀ» µå½Ç ¶§¸¶´Ù

°è¼Ó ´«¹°À» Èê·ÈÁö.


µ¹¾Æ°¡½Ç ¶§°¡ °¡±î¿ö ÁöÀÚ

´Ù½º¸®´ø °íÀ»µé°ú ¿Â°® °ÍµéÀ»
¼¼ÀÚ¿¡°Ô ¹°·ÁÁÖ¼ÌÁö¸¸

±Ý Àܸ¸Àº ±×·¯Áö ¾Ê¾ÒÁö.


ÀӱݴÔÀº ¿Õ±Ã ÀÜÄ¡¸¦ ¿­¾ú´Âµ¥

¹Ù´å°¡ ³ôÀº ¼º ¾È¿¡
¼±Á¶µé ´ë¹°·Á ¿Â ³ÐÀº ¿¬È¸Àå¿¡

±â»ç¿Í ±ÍÁ·µé ¸ðµÎ ºÒ·¶Áö.


´ÄÀ¸½Å ÀӱݴÔÀº °Å±â¿¡ ¼­½Å ´ÙÀ½

±× ÀÜÀ¸·Î ¸¶Áö¸· »ý¸íÀÇ ºÒ²ÉÀ» µå½Ã´õ´Ï
±× ¼º½º·¯¿î ÀÜÀ» µé¾î

¹Ù´å¹°·Î Èû²¯ ´øÁö¼ÌÁö.

 
ÀӱݴÔÀº ÀÜÀÌ ¶³¾îÁö´Â °Í°ú, ¹°ÀÌ µé¾î°¡°í

¹Ù´Ù¹ØÀ¸·Î °¡¶ó¾É´Â °ÍÀ» º¸½Å ´ÙÀ½
´«À» ¿µ¿øÈ÷ °¨À¸½Ã°í

´Ù½Ã´Â ¸¶½ÃÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¼Ì³×.



The King Of Thule
     This ballad is also introduced in Faust

             - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


IN Thule lived a monarch,

Still faithful to the grave,

To whom his dying mistress

A golden goblet gave.


Beyond all price he deem'd it,

He quaff'd it at each feast;

And, when he drain'd that goblet,

His tears to flow ne'er ceas'd.


And when he felt death near him,

His cities o'er he told,

And to his heir left all things,

But not that cup of gold.


A regal banquet held he

In his ancestral ball,

In yonder sea-wash'd castle,

'Mongst his great nobles all.


There stood the aged reveller,

And drank his last life's-glow,--

Then hurl'd the holy goblet

Into the flood below.


He saw it falling, filling,

And sinking 'neath the main,

His eyes then closed for ever,

He never drank again.



¸ñÀÚ Åº½ÄÀÇ ³ë·¡

               - ±«Å×


Àú »ê À§¿¡ ¿Ã¶ó
³ª´Â ÇìÀÏ ¼öµµ ¾øÀÌ ¿©·¯¹ø

ÁöÆÎÀÌ¿¡ ±â´ë¾î ¼­¼­
³»°Ô ¹Ì¼Ò ¶è °ñÂ¥±â¸¦ ¹Ù¶óº¸°ï Çß´Ù.


Ç®À» ¶â´Â ¾ç¶¼¸¦ µû¶ó
³ªÀÇ °³µéÀÌ Àß ÁöÄÑÁָ鼭

³»·Á¿À´Ù º¸¸é °ñÂ¥±â¿¡ À̸£°ï Çß´Ù.
ÇÏÁö¸¸ ¾îÂî ¸»ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖÀ¸·ª.


¸ñÀå¿¡´Â »ç¹æ °¡µæÈ÷
¿¹»Û ²ÉµéÀÌ ÇǾî À־

´©±¸¿¡°Ô ÁÙ »ý°¢Àº ¾Æ´Ï¾úÁö¸¸
±× ²ÉµéÀ» ²ª°ï Çß¾ú´Ù.


ºñ¿À°Å³ª ÆøÇ³¿ì¿Í ÅÂdzÀÌ ¿Ã ¶§¸é
³»°¡ ºñ¸¦ ÇÇÇÏ´ø ³ª¹«°¡ ÀÖ´Â °÷

±× ÁýÀÇ ¹®Àº ´ÝÇôÀÖ±¸³ª
³»°Õ ¸ðµç °ÍÀÌ ÇêµÈ ²ÞÀ̾ú±¸³ª.


°Å±â! ±× Áý À§ ³ôÀº Çϴÿ£
¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ¹«Áö°³´Â ¶°ÀÖÁö¸¸.

±× ¾Æ°¡¾¾´Â ÁýÀ» ¶°³ª
¸Ö°í ¸Õ °÷À¸·Î °¡¹ö¸®°í ¾ø±¸³ª.


±×·¡, ¸Õ ŸÇâÀ¸·Î °¡¹ö·È´Ù.
¾î¼¸é ¹Ù´Ù °Ç³ÊÀÏÁöµµ ¸ð¸¥´Ù.

¾î¼­ °¡ÀÚ, ¾çµé¾Æ, ¾î¼­ °¡ÀÚ
¸ñµ¿ÀÇ ¸¶À½Àº ´õ¾øÀÌ ½½ÇÁ´Ü´Ù.



The Shepherd's Lament

     - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


ON yonder lofty mountain

A thousand times I stand,

And on my staff reclining,

Look down on the smiling land.


My grazing flocks then I follow,

My dog protecting them well;

I find myself in the valley,

But how, I scarcely can tell.


The whole of the meadow is cover'd

With flowers of beauty rare;

I pluck them, but pluck them unknowing

To whom the offering to bear.


In rain and storm and tempest,

I tarry beneath the tree,

But closed remaineth yon portal;

'Tis all but a vision to me.


High over yonder dwelling,

There rises a rainbow gay;

But she from home hath departed

And wander'd far, far away.


Yes, far away bath she wander'd,

Perchance e'en over the sea;

Move onward, ye sheep, then, move onward!

Full sad the shepherd must be.


                              
5¿ùÀÇ ³ë·¡

           - ±«Å×


¹Ð¹ç°ú ¿Á¼ö¼ö¹ç »çÀÌ·Î,
°¡½Ã³ª¹« ¿ïŸ¸® »çÀÌ·Î,
¼öÇ® »çÀÌ·Î,

³ªÀÇ »ç¶ûÀº ¾îµô °¡½Ã³ª¿ä?
¸»ÇØÁà¿ä!


»ç¶ûÇÏ´Â ¼Ò³à
Áý¿¡¼­ ãÁö ¸øÇØ

±×·¯¸é ¹Û¿¡ ³ª°£ °Ô Ʋ¸²¾ø³×

 
¾Æ¸§´ä°í »ç¶û½º·±
²ÉÀÌ ÇÇ´Â ¿À¿ù¿¡

»ç¶ûÇÏ´Â ¼Ò³à ¸¶À½ µé ¶° ÀÖ³×
ÀÚÀ¯¿Í ±â»ÝÀ¸·Î.

 
½Ã³Á°¡ ¹ÙÀ§ ¿·¿¡¼­
±× ¼Ò³à´Â ù Ű½º¸¦ ÇÏ¿´³×

Ç®¹ç À§¿¡¼­ ³»°Ô,

¹º°¡ º¸ÀδÙ!
±× ¼Ò³àÀϱî?



May Song

       - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


BETWEEN wheatfield and corn,

Between hedgerow and thorn,

Between pasture and tree,

Where's my sweetheart

Tell it me!


Sweetheart caught I

Not at home;

She's then, thought I.

Gone to roam.

Fair and loving

Blooms sweet May;

Sweetheart's roving,

Free and gay.


By the rock near the wave,

Where her first kiss she gave,

On the greensward, to me,--

Something I see!

Is it she?

                
 
´«¹°Á¥Àº »§À» ¸Ô¾îº» ÀûÀÌ ¾ø´Â ÀÚ
                   - ź±Ý½ÃÀÎ(1)

                           - ±«Å×


´«¹°Á¥Àº »§À» ¸Ô¾îº» ÀûÀÌ ¾ø´Â ÀÚ,

½½Ç ¹ãÀ» ÇÑ ¹øÀ̶óµµ
ħ»ó¿¡¼­ ¿ï¸ç Áö»õ¿î ÀûÀÌ ¾ø´Â ÀÚ,

±×´Â ´ç½ÅÀ» ¾ËÁö ¸øÇÏ¿À´Ï, ÇÏ´ÃÀÇ ±Ç´ÉÀ̽ÿ©.


´ç½ÅÀ» ÅëÇÏ¿© »îÀÇ ±æÀ» ¿ì¸®´Â ¾ò¾ú°í

ºÒ½ÖÇÑ Á×À» ÀÚµé Ÿ¶ôÄÉ ÇϽþî
°íÅë ¼Ó¿¡ ¹ö¸®¼ÌÀ¸µÇ,

±×·³¿¡µµ ÀúÈñ´Â Á˰ªÀ» Ä¡¸£°Ô µË´Ï´Ù.

 

WHO Never Ate With Tears His Bread

         - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


WHO never ate with tears his bread,

Who never through night's heavy hours

Sat weeping on his lonely bed,--

He knows you not, ye heavenly powers!


Through you the paths of life we gain,

Ye let poor mortals go astray,

And then abandon them to pain,--

E'en here the penalty we pay,



¸¶¿Õ

               - ±«Å×


ÀÌ ´ÊÀº ¹ã ¾îµÒ ¼Ó, ¹Ù¶÷ ¼Ó¿¡ ¸»Å¸°í °¡´Â ÀÌ ´©±º°¡?
±×°Ç »ç¶ûÇÏ´Â ¾ÆÀ̸¦ µ¥¸®°í °¡´Â ¾Æ¹öÁö´Ù.

¾ÆµéÀ» ÆÈ·Î ²À ²¸¾È°í,
µû¶æÇÏ°Ô °¨½Î¾È°í ÀÖ´Ù.


"¹½ ¶§¹®¿¡ ¾ó±¼À» °¡¸®°í ¹«¼­¿ö ÇÏ´À³Ä?"
"º¸¼¼¿ä, ¾Æ¹öÁö, ¹Ù·Î ¿·¿¡ ¸¶¿ÕÀÌ º¸ÀÌÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¼¼¿ä?

¿Õ°üÀ» ¾²°í ¿ÊÀÚ¶ôÀ» ²ô´Â ¸¶¿ÕÀÌ ¾È º¸À̼¼¿ä?"
"¾ÆÀ̾ß, ±×°Ç µéÆÇ¿¡¼­ ÇǾî¿À¸£´Â ¾È°³¶õ´Ù."


"¿À, ±Í¿©¿î ¾ÆÀ̾ß, ³Ê´Â ³ª¿Í ÇÔ²² °¡ÀÚ! 
°Å±â¼­ ¾ÆÁÖ ¿¹»Û Àå³²°¨À» ¸¹ÀÌ °®°í ³ª¿Í ÇÔ²² ³îÀÚ.

°Å±â¿¡´Â ¿¹»Û ²ÉÀÌ ¸¹ÀÌ ÇǾîÀÖ°í
¿ì¸® ¾ö¸¶ÇÑÅ״ Ȳ±Ý ¿ÊÀÌ ¸¹´Ü´Ù."


"¾Æ¹öÁö, ¾Æ¹öÁö, µé¸®Áö ¾ÊÀ¸¼¼¿ä?
¸¶¿ÕÀÌ Áö±Ý Á¦ ±Í¿¡ ¸»Çϰí ÀÖ¾î¿ä."

"Á¶¿ëÈ÷ ÇØ¶ó ³» ¾Æ°¡¾ß, ³ÊÀÇ »ó»óÀ̶õ´Ù.
±×°Ç ½½Ç ¹Ù¶÷ÀÌ ³ª¹µÀÙÀ» Èçµå´Â ¼Ò¸®¶õ´Ù."


 "±Í¿©¿î ¾ÆÀ̾ß, ÀÚ, ³ª¿Í ÇÔ²² °¡ÀÚ²Ù³ª.
³ªÀÇ µþµéÀÌ ³Î ¿¹»Ú°Ô µ¹ºÁÁÖ°Ô ÇϰڴÙ.

³ªÀÇ ´ÞµéÀº ¹ã¸¶´Ù Áñ°Å¿î ÀÜÄ¡¸¦ ¿­°í
ÃãÃß°í ³ë·¡ÇÏ°í ³Ê¸¦ ¾ó·¯¼­ Àáµé°Ô ÇØÁÙ°Å´Ù."


"¾Æ¹öÁö, ¾Æ¹öÁö, Àú±â¿¡ º¸ÀÌÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¼¼¿ä?
¸¶¿ÕÀÇ µþµéÀÌ ³» °ç¿¡ ¿Í ÀÖ¾î¿ä."

"º¸ÀÌÁö, ¾ÆÁÖ Àß º¸ÀδܴÙ.
¿À·¡µÈ ȸ»ö ºû ¹öµå³ª¹«°¡ ±×·¸°Ô º¸ÀÌ´Â °Å´Ù."


"±Í¿©¿î ¾ÆÀÌ¾ß ³ª´Â ³×°¡ ÁÁ´Ü´Ù. ³× ±Í¿©¿î ¸ð½ÀÀÌ ÁÁ´Ü´Ù.
³×°¡ ½È´Ù°í ÇÑ´Ù¸é ¾ïÁö·Î ²ø°í °¡°Ú´Ù."

"¾Æ¹öÁö, ¾Æ¹öÁö, ¸¶¿ÕÀÌ ³ª¸¦ ²À²À ¹­¾î¿ä!
¸¶¿ÕÀÌ ³ª¸¦ Àâ¾Æ°¡¿ä!"


ÀÌÁ¦ ¾Æ¹öÁö´Â ¹«¼­¿ò¿¡ Áú·Á Ȳ±ÞÇÏ°Ô ¸»À» ¸ó´Ù.
½ÅÀ½Çϰí ÀÖ´Â ºÒ½ÖÇÑ ¾ÆÀ̸¦ ¾È°í¼­.

°¡±î½º·Î Áý¸¶´ç¿¡ µµÂøÇßÀ¸³ª
ÆÈ ¾ÈÀÇ ¾ÆÀÌ´Â ¿òÁ÷ÀÌÁö ¾Ê°í Á×¾î ÀÖ´Ù.



The Erl-King

         - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear?

The father it is, with his infant so dear;

He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,

He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.


"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?"

"Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!

Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?"

"My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."


"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!

Full many a game I will play there with thee;

On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,

My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold."


"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear

The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?"

"Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives;

'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves."



"Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?

My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care

My daughters by night their glad festival keep,

They'll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."


"My father, my father, and dost thou not see,

How the Erl-King his daughters has brought here for me?"

"My darling, my darling, I see it aright,

'Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight."


"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy!

And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ."

"My father, my father, he seizes me fast,

Full sorely the Erl-King has hurt me at last."


The father now gallops, with terror half wild,

He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;

He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread,--

The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.


                              
¹Ì´¨¿¡°Ô

               - ±«Å×


°ñÂ¥±â¿Í °­¹° À§¸¦ ¾ÆÁÖ ³ôÀÌ,
´«ºÎ½Å ÅÂ¾ç ¸¶Â÷´Â Áö³ª°£´Ù.

¾Æ¾Æ! žçÀº ±×ÀÇ ±æÀ» °¡¸é¼­,
±×´ë¿Í ³ªÀÇ ½½ÇÄÀ» ºÒ·¯ ³»³ª´Ï,

¸¶À½ ¼Ó ±íÀº °÷À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ.
¾ðÁ¦³ª ¾ÆÄ§¸¶´Ù ¶Ç ´Ù½Ã.


³»°Õ ¹ãÀÌ ¿Íµµ ¼Ò¿ëÀÌ ¾ø³ª´Ï
³»°¡ ²Ù´Â ²Þ¸¶Àúµµ
½½Ç ¸ð½ÀÀ¸·Î ¿À±â ¶§¹®À̶ó.

³ª ½½ÇÄÀ» ´À³¢³ª´Ï,
°¡½¿ ¼Ó¿¡¼­ Á¶¿ëÈ÷
»õ·Ó°Ô ¼Ú¾Æ³ª´Â Èû°ú ÇÔ²².


¿À·¡ ÀüºÎÅÍ
Àú ¹ØÀ» Áö³ª´Â ¹è¸¦ º¸¾Ò³ª´Ï

Á¤¹ÚÁö¸¦ ã¾Æ°¡´Â °ÍÀ̶ó.
ÇÏÁö¸¸ ¾Æ¾Æ, ¸ØÃç¹ö¸° ½½ÇÄÀº

¸¶À½ ¼Ó¿¡¼­
¶ßÁú ¾Ê°í Èê·¯°¡Áö ¸øÇϳ×.


¿¹»Û ³ªµéÀÌ ¿Ê, ¿À·£¸¸¿¡
Àå·Õ¿¡¼­ ²¨³» ÀÔ¾î¾ß Çϳ×.

¿À´ÃÀÌ ÃàÁ¦³¯À̶ó.
¾Æ¹«µµ ¸ð¸£¸®´Ï

¾²µð¾´ ½½ÇÄ¿¡ Á¥Àº ³» °¡½¿
¹«¼·°Ô Âõ³¢¿î °ÍÀ».


³² ¸ô·¡ ¿ï¸é¼­µµ
Ç÷»ö ÁÁÀº °Ç°­ÇÑ ¾ó±¼·Î

Áñ°Å¿î ¸ð½À º¸ÀÏ ¼ö ¹Û¿¡ ¾øÀ¸´Ï
ÀÌ ½½ÇÄÀÌ Á׾

³»¸¶À½ ¼Ó¿¡¼­ »ç¶óÁ³´Ù°í ÇÑ´Ù¸é
¾Æ¾Æ, ¿À·¡Àü¿¡ ³­ Á×¾ú¾î¾ß Çϱ⠶§¹®ÀÌ´Ï.


 
To Mignon

       - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


OVER vale and torrent far

Rolls along the sun's bright car.

Ah! he wakens in his course

Mine, as thy deep-seated smart

In the heart.

Ev'ry morning with new force.


Scarce avails night aught to me;

E'en the visions that I see

Come but in a mournful guise;

And I feel this silent smart

In my heart

With creative pow'r arise.


During many a beauteous year

I have seen ships 'neath me steer,

As they seek the shelt'ring bay;

But, alas, each lasting smart

In my heart

Floats not with the stream away.


I must wear a gala dress,

Long stored up within my press,

For to-day to feasts is given;

None know with what bitter smart

Is my heart

Fearfully and madly riven.


Secretly I weep each tear,

Yet can cheerful e'en appear,

With a face of healthy red;

For if deadly were this silent smart

In my heart,

Ah, I then had long been dead!



³ª±×³×ÀÇ ¹ã³ë·¡

           - ±«Å×


¸ðµç »êºÀ¿ì¸®À§¿¡
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The Wanderer's Night-Song

         - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


THOU who comest from on high,

Who all woes and sorrows stillest,

Who, for twofold misery,

Hearts with twofold balsam fillest,

Would this constant strife would cease!

What are pain and rapture now?

Blissful Peace,

To my bosom hasten thou!



½ÅºñÀÇ ÇÕâ

                 - ±«Å×


Áö³ª°£ ¸ðµç °ÍÀº
ÇѰ« ºñÀ¯ÀÏ »Ó,

ÀÌ·ç±â ¾î·Á¿î °Í ¿©±â ÀÌ·ç¾îÁ³À¸´Ï.
±Û·Î ¾²±â ¾î·Á¿î °ÍÀÌ
¿©±â ÀÌ·ç¾îÁ³³×,

¿µ¿øÈ÷ ¿©¼ºÀûÀÎ °ÍÀÌ
¿ì¸®¸¦ À̲ø¾î ¿Ã¶ó°¡°Ô ÇÑ´Ù.



Chorus Mystics

         - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


Each thing of mortal birth

Is but a type

What was of feeble worth

Here becomes ripe.

What was a mystery

Here meets the eye;

The ever-womanly

Draws us on high.
                      
 
 
  
 
 
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