At Bukovina Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

I shall never forget you, my sweet Bukovina province,
With your romantic border, with sunny mountains
And your blossoming valleys
And rivers that flow through high upsurging cliffs
— Like white diamonds.
The river shimmers at sunrise, on grazing lands.

My fate' s complains and smiles,
Echoed in songs, echoed in dreams
Gently and in secret,
All pass through my thought.
All pass in front of me.
These steal my heart, and with sweet words
Whisper to me about love.

Only the bad soul next to your bosoms,
Is the one that cast a spell on my life's thread,
It looked to me like it went to sleep.
Let me be, so I can sing to the world.
So I can aim for a fate proud of my name
— And of my star.

When the Moon wobbles on the brown sky
With a melodious step, with a slow pace,
In its way, Aeolus resounds on its gentle harp
A song from Valhalla,
It sings the night's gentle and delightful song.

Then my heart pounds, and it doesn't rest,
Like the spirit that sleeps quietly…
It slightly shudders.
It opens its way in a splendid fantasy.
It drives it's longing
— On wooded mountains, on hills and on valleys.

It sends its secret desire to you, there.
My eye sparkles, my eyelids are filled.
My heart is heavy.
And so my Bukovina, all the time when I think of you,
My soul is heavy with a cloud of sighs.

(1866, August 14/26)


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