Вальтер Скотт - Песнь трубадура

В огне чувств пылая жарко,
Пел трубадур счастливый
О любви своей бескрайней
Под окном любимой:
- Нет ничего любви светлей,
И в сердце жить подруги,
И за любовь из ста смертей
За честь пасть трубадуру.

В походе ратном, скинув шлем,
Он арфу в руки брал,
И о любви пел менестрель,
С кой встречи дома ждал:
- Нет ничего любви светлей,
И в сердце жить подруги,
И за любовь из ста смертей
За честь пасть трубадуру.

Средь вражьих пик, под лязг мечей,
Без шлема и щита,
Он пел возлюбленной своей,
За други грудью став:
- Нет ничего любви светлей,
И в сердце жить подруги,
И за любовь из ста смертей
За честь пасть трубадуру.

Увы! В той битве роковой
Он пал убит врагами,
И умирая под броней
Он пел, шепча губами:
- Нет ничего любви светлей,
И в сердце жить подруги,
И с вечной песнею о ней
За честь пасть трубадуру.

***
THE TROUBADOUR

FROM THE SAME COLLECTION

[Verse 1]
[Harsh Gregorian choir]

Glowing with love, on fire for fame,
A Troubadour that hated sorrow,
Beneath his Lady's window came,
And thus he sung his last good-morrow:

[Solo guitar]

[Chorus]
[Youthful tenor]

"My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my true-love's bower;
Gaily for love and fame to fight
Befits the gallant Troubadour."

[Blast beat and Solo guitar]

"My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my true-love's bower;
Gaily for love and fame to fight
Befits the gallant Troubadour."

[Verse 2]
[Harsh Gregorian choir]

And while he march'd with helm on head
And harp in hand, the descant rung,
As, faithful to his favourite maid,
The minstrel-burden still he sung:

[Solo guitar]

[Chorus]
[Youthful tenor]

" My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my lady's bower;
Resolved for love and fame to fight,
I come, a gallant Troubadour."

[Blast beat and Solo guitar]

"My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my true-love's bower;
Gaily for love and fame to fight
Befits the gallant Troubadour."

[Verse 3]
[Harsh Gregorian choir]

Even when the battle-roar was deep,
With dauntless heart he hew'd his way,
'Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep,
And still was heard his warrior-lay:

[Solo guitar]

[Chorus]
[Youthful tenor]

" My life it is my country's right,
My heart is in my lady's bower;
For love and fame to fall in fight
Becomes the valiant Troubadour."

[Blast beat and Solo guitar]

"My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my true-love's bower;
Gaily for love and fame to fight
Befits the gallant Troubadour."

[Verse 4]
[Harsh Gregorian choir]

Alas! upon the bloody field
He fell beneath the foeman's glaive,
But still reclining on his shield,
Expiring sung the exulting stave:

[Solo guitar]

[Chorus]
[Youthful tenor]

"My life it is my country's right,
My heart is in my lady's bower;
For love to die, for fame to fall in fight
Becomes the valiant Troubadour."

[Blast beat and Solo guitar]

"My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my true-love's bower;
Gaily for love and fame to fight
Befits the gallant Troubadour."

[Outro]
[Blast beat and Solo guitar]