Je 20 apr 00, je 15:12, Charles George Haberl skribis:

> For all those who might be interested in this venture - I felt as if this
> information might be appropriate for the auxlang list, for numerous
> reasons.
> -Charles H.
Been there, done that.

Actually, I have the whole book-length poem at home ... in
Esperanto. The passage at the URL above contains, by
coincidence (I suppose), just those lines you've quoted below.

> ********
> Dear Friends,
> I am preparing a polyglot and transcultural compilation of 20 lines of the
> best known poetry in Polish literature, by Mickiewicz, and have so far
> received translations into 89 languages. I wish to contact motivated
> linguists to expand the project into other languages. For those unable to
> work with the original, on-line literal translations are available in
> English and French. You may also wish to visit website
> (www.ccr, for background information on the
> poet.
> Thank you for your help.
> With best regards
> Dr. Z.W. Wolkowski
> University of Paris, France
> Adam Mickiewicz
> "Pan Tadeusz", or the last foray in Lithuania
> Lithuania, my country! you are like health
> How much should cherish you, he will only learn,
> Who has lost you. Today your beauty in all its splendor
> I see and describe, because I yearn for you.
> Holy Maiden, who guards the Bright Mountain of Czestochowa,
> And shines in the Ostra Gate of Vilna!
> You, who defends the castle city of Novogrodek with its faithful people,
> As you have brought me back to health as a child by miracle,
> (When, offered by my crying mother
> Under Your protection, I raised my dead eye-lid
> And straight away I could by foot to the threshold
> Of Your temple go and thank God
> For the life returned)
> Thus you shall return us by miracle to our Fatherland's bosom.
> Meanwhile, transport my yearning soul
> To those green pastures spread wide along the blue Niemen,
> To those fields painted with various grain,
> Gold-colored with wheat, silver-colored with rye,
> Where the amber-colored colza, buckwheat white as snow,
> Where clover blushes as the cheeks of a maiden, and all is girdled
> As with a ribbon, by a green hedge
> On which rare, silent pear trees stand.