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XXII
Gastibelza, the man with the carbine,
Sang thus:
“” Has anyone ever known doña Sabine?
Anyone here?
Dance, sing, villagers! night is falling
On Mount Falù.
— The wind that comes across the mountain
Will drive me mad!
“” Has any of you ever known Sabine,
My señora?
Her mother was the old Moorish woman
Of Antequera,
Who every night cried out in the Magne Tower
Like an owl… —
The wind that comes across the mountain
Will drive me mad!
“” Dance, sing! The goods that the hour sends
Must be used.
She was young and her eye full of joy
Made one think. —
To that old man whom a child accompanies
Throw a penny!… —
The wind that comes across the mountain
Will drive me mad.
“” Truly, the queen beside her would have been plain
When, toward evening,
She passed over the bridge of Toledo
In a black bodice.
A rosary from the time of Charlemagne
Adorned her neck… —
The wind that comes across the mountain
Will drive me mad.
“” The king said on seeing her so beautiful
To his nephew: — For a kiss, for a smile from her,
For a hair,
Infante don Ruy, I would give Spain
And Peru! —
The wind that comes across the mountain
Will drive me mad.
“” I do not know if I loved this lady,
But I know well
That to have a glance from her soul,
I, poor dog,
Would gladly have spent ten years in the galleys
Under the bolt… —
The wind that comes across the mountain
Will drive me mad.
“” One summer day when all was light,
Life and sweetness,
She came to play in the river
With her sister,
I saw the foot of her young companion
And her knee… —
The wind that comes across the mountain
Will drive me mad.
“” When I saw this child, I the shepherd
Of this canton,
I thought I saw the beautiful Cleopatra,
Who, we are told,
Led Caesar, emperor of Germany,
By the halter… —
The wind that comes across the mountain
Will drive me mad.
“” Dance, sing, villagers, night is falling!
Sabine, one day,
Sold everything, her dove-like beauty,
And her love,
For the gold ring of the count of Saldagne,
For a jewel… —
The wind that comes across the mountain
Will drive me mad.
“” On this old bench suffer me to lean,
For I am weary.
With this count she has therefore fled!
Fled, alas!
By the road that goes toward Cerdagne,
I know not where… —
The wind that comes across the mountain
Will drive me mad.
“” I saw her pass from my dwelling,
And that was all.
But now I am bored at every hour,
Full of disgust,
Idle dreamer, my soul in the countryside,
My dagger on the nail… —
The wind that comes across the mountain
Has driven me mad! “”
Victor Hugo
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-guitar-victor-hugo/