Yiddish Penny Songs: Di Eyropeishe skhite (The European Slaughter) a lament of World War I with lyrics by Morris Rund.

Since I haven't been able to find this song, I provide the songsheet for you in hopes it will ring a bell for someone. At the far left, the vertical type would have told the name of the original song from which the melody was taken, but the songsheet is torn. I think the first word is muter but that's not much help. Click for a larger view.

Transliteration and translation of the Yiddish after the jump.

Di Eyropeishe skhite

Mentshn millionen fun fil natsionen firn milkhome in yurop atsind
Un ver ken den filn - a mames harts shtiln?
Ven men roybt dort ir treyst oy ir eyn un eyntsik kind
Eyn altinke muter - veynt shreklekh biter
Ir kind muz zikh shaydn zi drikt im tsum brust
Ir treyst ir neshome - muz geyn in milkhome
Zi gist dort mit trern un tsertlekh im kusht (kist)
Dos kind lozt a trer - dos shaydn iz im shver
Er geyt tsu der skhite - un tsu der mamen zogt er:

Mamenyu - oy blayb gezind ikh gey yetst in milkhome
Mameniu - oy blayb gezunt, bet got far mayn neshome
Mamenyu bet far dayn kind - er zol kumen aheym gezind
Blayb gezind mayn mamenyu - ikh muz geyn - muz geyn

Vi blutet in hertsn? Un ver filt di shmertsn?
Fun a libende froy ven men roybt dort ir man
Zi veynt un klogt biter, ot bald vert zi miter
Un vos vet fun ir oy mit der kindele zayn?
dem mans trern flisn, er geyt blut fargisn
Filaykht falt er dort gor a korbn aleyn
Zayn hertz tut im krenken, ver vet gedenken
Zayn nomen a mol? Un er zogt mit geveyn
Tayere fri ikh gey in krig
Filaykht kum ikh shoyn nit tsurik
Gib mayn nomen dem kind ven du vest es hobn mit glik!

Tayere - oy blayb gezind, ikh gey yetst in milkhome
Tayere - oy blayb gezind, bet Got far mayn neshome
Tayere, bet far dayn man, mir zoln nokh tsuzamen zayn
Blayb gezind mayn tayerer vayb
Ikh muz geyn, muz geyn!

Dos herts vert tserisn vu trern dort gisn
Fun kinderlakh roybt men a tatn avek
Di kinderlekh klogn, tsum tatn zey zogn
Oy tateniu gey nit, loz undz nit in shrek
Men tut dikh opraysn, ver vet undz shpayzn?
Kholile du tateniu falst dort in krig
Ver vet den gebn yesoymim tsum lebn?
Ven du vest kholile nit kumen tsurik
Der tate ful mit vey kusht di kinder tsvey
Er drikt zey tsum herts un mit blutike trern zogt er tsu zey:

Kinderlekh - oy blayb gezind
Ikh gey yetst in milkhome
Kinderlekh - oy blayb gezint
Bet Got far mayn neshome
Oy kinder bet vintsht dem tatn glik
Ir zolt im nokh vider zen tsurik
Blaybt gezind oy kinder mayn
Ikh muz geyn, muz geyn

---
The European slaughter

Millions of people from many nations are waging war in Europe now
And who can feel and quiet a mother's heart?
When her precious consolation, her one and only child is stolen
An old mother cries so bitterly
Her child must go away, she presses him to her breast
Her consolation, her soul, must go to war
Her tears are pouring out and she kisses him tenderly
Her child lets out a tear - parting is hard for him
He goes to the slaughter - and he says to the mother:

Mother, be well, I go to war
Mother, be well, pray to God for my soul
Mama, pray for your child that he may come home healthy
Be well, my mother, I must go, must go

Whose heart bleeds? Who feels the anguish
of a loving woman when her husband is robbed from her
She cries and laments bitterly, soon she grows tired
And what will happen to her child?
Her husband's tears flow, he goes to pour out his blood
He will probably fall there, a victim, alone
His heart pains him. Who will remember
His name sometime? And he says with tears
"Dear, early in the morning I go to battle
Perhaps I'll never return
Give my name to the child if you bear him safely

Dear - stay well, I'm going to war now
Dear - stay well, pray to God for my soul
Dear, pray for your husband, that we will be together again
Stay well my dear wife.
I must go, must go!

The heart is torn where tears flow,
A father is robbed from her children
The children wail, they say to the father:
"Oh father, don't go, don't leave us in fear.
They're tearing you away from us, who will bring us food?
God forbid, father, you should fall there in battle
Who, then, will provide for orphans?
If you, God forbid, don't return."
The woeful father kissed the two children
He pressed them to his heart and with bloody tears said to them:

Children, be well. I'm going to war now.
Children, be well. Pray to God for my soul.
Oy, children, pray, wish your father good luck
That you will see him again
Be well, my children,
I must go, must go

For sheet music and/or performances contact me: jane@mappamundi.com

Thursday, August 6, 2020

Di Eyropeishe skhite (The European Slaughter) a lament of World War I with lyrics by Morris Rund.

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