Va pensiero (Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves) (Giuseppe Verdi)

From ChoralWiki

Jump to: navigation, search

Music files

Legend.gif      Broken.gif = BROKEN LINK    Icon_pdf.gif = PDF FILE   Icon_snd.gif = MIDI FILE   Icon_ps.png = POSTSCRIPT FILE   Music Program = NOTATION FILE
Network.png = EXTERNAL SITE (DISCLAIMER)   Icon_pdf_globe.gif = EXTERNAL PDF FILE   Icon_snd_globe.gif = EXTERNAL MIDI FILE   Error.gif = SCORE ERROR   Question.gif = HELP
Editor: Pawel Jura (added 2000-06-04).   Score information: 232 kbytes   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes: revised 6/6/00

General Information

Title: Va pensiero (Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves)
Larger work: Nabucco
Composer: Giuseppe Verdi

Number of voices: 6vv  Voicing: SSATTB
Genre: Secular, Opera
Language: Italian
Instruments: piano
Published:

Description:

External websites:

Original text and translations

Image:Italian.png Italian text

Va, pensiero, sull'ali dorate;
va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli
ove olezzano tepide e molli
l'aure dolci del suolo natal!
Del Giordano le rive saluta,
di Sionne le torri atterrate.
Oh, mia patria sì bella e perduta!
Oh, membranza sì cara e fatal!

Arpa d'or dei fatidici vati,
perché muta dal salice pendi?
Le memorie nel petto raccendi,
ci favella del tempo che fu!
O simile di Solima ai fati
traggi un suono di crudo lamento,
o t'ispiri il Signore un concento
che ne infonda al patire virtù!


Image:English.png English translation

Go, thought, on golden wings
Go and rest on rises and hills
Where the sweet and soft
Air of the native land is to breath!
Greet the shores of Jordan River,
The destroyed towers of Sion.
Oh, my country, beautiful and lost!
Oh remembrance, so dear and fated.

Golden harp of the prophetic poets
Why do you hang, dumb, from the willow?
You renew memories in our breasts,
Talking about the time that once was.
Oh, alike Solima to the poets
You draw a sound of crude mourning,
May the Lord inspire you to a concert
That may give virtue to the suffering.


Image:French.png French translation

Va, pensée, sur tes ailes dorées;
Va, pose-toi sur les pentes et les cols
Où fleurent, tièdes et humides
les brises douces du sol natal!
Du Jourdain, elle salue les rives,
de Sion les tours détruites.
Oh, ma patrie si belle et perdue!
Oh, souvenir si cher et funeste!

Harpe d’or des prémonitoires devins,
Pourquoi pends-tu, muette, du saule?
Les souvenirs au cœur, tu ravives,
tu nous parles du temps qui fut!
Ou que, pareille au sort d'Israël,
tu tires un son de triste complainte
Ou que le Seigneur t’inspire une harmonie
Qui nous insuffle la vertu d’endurer les souffrances!

Translation:Xavier Brossard-Ménard

Personal tools