Romanian Folk - Miorița versuri traducere în engleză

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Little ewe

Near a lush meadow
Under heaven’s shadow,
On a narrow trail,
Winding down the vale,
Three flocks of sheep, tramp,
Three shepherds set camp.
One is Moldovan,
One is Ungurean,
And the last, Vrancean.
Now, the Ungurean
And the one Vrancean,
Secretly, desired,
Quietly, conspired,
At the end of day
To attack and slay,
The one Moldovan.
The wealthiest one.
Because, he has sheep
Many and honed, to keep,
Horses trained and selfless,
Dogs loyal and fireless.
But a small ewe there,
Black and white, her hair,
For about three days,
Worry, her voice says,
Grass, she didn’t graze.
- Little ewe, so fair,
Black and white, your hair,
For about three days,
Your voice worry says,
Grass, you didn’t graze.
Are you maybe ailing,
Little ewe, my darling?
- Dear shepherd dear,
Herd the flock back near
That forest, with crows,
Where grass fresh grows,
And a cool breeze flows.
Dear master dear,
Bring a sheepdog here,
Braver than any other,
Loyal like a brother.
When the night shades lie,
You’re doomed to die,
Slain by Ungurean
And by the Vrancean!
- Ewe, enchanted ewe,
If your word is true,
If I am to die,
On field, under sky,
Tell the one Vrancean
And the Ungurean
To bury me here,
Just about my gear,
By the sheepfold ground
With my flocks around,
Back behind my shack
To hear my dogs' bark.
Tell them what I’ve said
And beside my head
Lie a flute of beech
With its loving pitch.
A small flute of bone
With its forlorn tone.
A flute of elder wood
With its fierce mood.
As the wind will blow,
The flutes’ song will grow,
And my flock of sheep
Knowing where I sleep,
Bloody tears will weep.
And about my fate,
Do not tell them, straight.
Better tell instead,
That I went to wed,
A princess, most gracious,
The world’s bride, so precious.
And on my wedding day,
A bright star fell away,
The sun and the moon,
Held my crown, as groom.
Maple and elm trees
Were my invitees,
Priests were mountains, high,
Birds, fiddlers sang by,
And across the sky
Stars brighten the eye!
Maybe, once, you’ll meet,
On some random street,
A mother too feeble,
With her woolen girdle
And tears on her face,
Running from place to place,
And asking everyone,
These words about her son:
'Have you seen someday,
Somewhere far away,
Lad, handsome as king,
Slim as wedding ring?
His little face, bright,
Is like milk's white.
And his moustache, neat,
Is like summer’s wheat!
And his thick hair seems,
Raven’s plume, it gleams.
His eyes, deep and merry,
Are hued as ripe blackberry.”
To her little ewe,
Don't tell what is true.
Tell her how I said,
That I went to wed,
A daughter of king,
On the heaven wing.
But my mother, dear,
Doesn’t need to hear,
That on my wedding day,
A bright star fell away,
That maple and elm trees
Were my invitees,
Priests were mountains, high,
Birds, fiddlers sang by,
And across the sky,
Stars brighten the eye!
 




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