LOS DOS FILHETS DEL REI (Occitan)
A la guèrra qui i va,
Qui i va non tòrna gaire.
Òc, los dos filhets del rei
A la guèrra son anadis.
Joanet jamai n'es tornat
E Joan-Francesc pas encara,
Sa maire lo vic venir
Per un prat que verdavaja.
Qué ne pòrtas, mieu filhòt ?
Qué pòrtas de las batalhas ?
Entre jo e mon caval
Ne portam vint-e-nòu plagas.
Mon caval pòrta las nòu,
Jo paubret totas las autras.
Ma maire fètz-me lo lèit,
No i demorarai pas gaire.
Serai mòrt a mièja nuèit,
Mon caval a punta d’alba,
M'enterraretz al sagrat,
Mon caval a la passada.
M'enramelaretz de flors,
Mon caval de totas armas,
Passaràn los passejants,
Diràn : quina bèla tomba !
La tomba del filh del rei
Qu’a ganhat fòrça batalhas,
La tomba del filh del rei
Que n’es mòrt a las batalhas.
Las campanas de Madrid
Sonaràn a punta d'alba,
Sonaràn per mon baron
Qu’a ganhat fòrça batalhas,
Sonaràn per mon baron
Que n'es mòrt a las batalhas. | THE TWO YOUNG SONS OF THE KING
To war, whoever goes,
Whoever goes, seldom comes back.
Yes, the two young sons of the king
Have gone to war.
Johnny never returned
And John-Francis [has] not [returned] yet,
His mother saw him come
Across a verdant meadow.
"What do you bring, my little son?
What do you bring from the battles?"
"Between I and my horse,
We bring twenty-nine wounds.
My horse brings nine [of them],
I, poor little me, all the others.
Mother, make my bed,
I won't stay there long.
I'll be dead at midnight,
My horse at daybreak,
You'll bury me in holy ground,
My horse in the pathway.
You'll adorn me with flowers,
My horse with all [my] arms.
The strollers will pass by,
They'll say, 'What a beautiful grave!
The grave of the king's son
Who won many battles,
The grave of the king's son
Who died at war'.' (lit. at the battles)
Madrid bells
Will ring at daybreak,
They'll ring for my baron
Who won many battles,
They'll ring for my baron
Who died at war. (lit. at the battles) |