In the year of thirty-nine' assembled here the volunteers In the days when lands were few Here the ship sailed out into the blue and sunny morn The sweetest sight ever seen. and the night followed day, and the story tellers say That the score brave souls inside For many a lonely day sailed across the milky seas Never looked back, never feared, never cried
Don't you hear my call, though you're many years away Don't you hear me calling you, write your letters in the sand For the day I'll take your hand, in the land that our grand-children knew
In the year of thirty-nine', came a ship from the blue The volunteers came home that day, and they bring good news Of a world so newly born, though their hearts so heavily weigh For the earth is old and grey, little darling we'll away But my love this cannot be... Oh so many years have gone, though I'm older than a year Your mothers eyes from your eyes cry to me
Don't you hear my call, though you're many years away Don't you hear me calling you Write your letters in the sand, for the day I'll take your hand In the land that our grand-children knew
Don't you hear my call, though you're many years away Don't you hear me calling you, all your letters in the sand Cannot heal me like your hand, for my life still ahead... pity me
- Что вы пишите только грустную, мрачную музыку? Слушатель хочет отдохнуть, повеселиться, уйти с концерта с радостным настроением. А вы?.. Напишите что-нибудь веселое, бодрое. И... распродажа пойдет веселее, - говорил однажды издатель молодому Брамсу. - Попробую, - ответил композитор. Через несколько дней он пришел в издательство с большим свитком. - Ну что, получилось? - встретил его издатель вопросом. - Не знаю, - ответил, улыбаясь, Брамс и положил перед издателем ноты. Новое произведение назвалось так: "Весело схожу в могилу"
