The sad river


River, flowing from the mountains,
Tell me why your waters are swollen.
Is the snow thawing
And flooding your banks?

The snow lies unmelted in the hills,
And flowers hold my banks firm.
At my source sits a mother,
Sorrowful and weeping.

Seven daughters she bore and loved;
And seven now lie buried.
In death they know not night nor day;
They lie, facing east.

Waiting in pain by their grave,
She tells her sorrow to their spirits.
And her unceasing tears flow,
Swelling my waters to a flood.


Magdalena Kulig mezzo-soprano
Magdalena Blum piano

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