Trotwaer. Jaargang 27

[p. 243]

William Butler Yeats
Piloat om utens foarsjocht syn dea

oersetting Eric Hoekstra

Ik wyt dat ik op 't ein ta set:
út 'e wolken wei omleech.
Dy't ik befjochtsje haatsj' ik net,
dy't ik beweitsje ha 'k net heech.
Myn lân dat leit by Hoarnstersweach,
myn lânslju dolle yn it fean.
Gjin ôfrin brekt har krûme rêch
of makket dat se lichter gean.
Noch wet of plicht woe dat ik focht
of pommerant of lûde kloft.
In iensum sin, in stille nocht
dreau ta 't gebolder yn 'e loft.
Ik hifke alles, seach alles nei,
de jierren foar my acht' ik nea,
nea acht' ik de jierren achter my
al lyk dít libben, dízze dea.

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere in the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltaretan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.