by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)
Translation © by Pierre Mathé

Hughie Graham
Language: Scottish (Scots) 
Our translations:  FRE
Our lords are to the mountains gane,
A hunting o' the fallow deer;
And they ha'e gripet Hughie Graham,
For stealing o' the Bishop's mare.

And they hae tied him hand and foot,
And led him up thro' Stirling town;
The lads and lasses met him there,
Cried, Hughie Graham thou art a loun.

They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe,
He looked to the gallows tree,
Yet never colour left his cheek,
Nor ever did he blin' his ee.

At length he looked round about
To see whatever he could spy,
And there he saw his auld father,
And he was weeping bitterly.
O haud your tongue my father dear,
And wi' your weeping let it be;
Thy weeping's fairer on my heart
Than a' that they can do to me:

And ye may tell my kith and kin,
I never did disgrace their blood;
And when they meet the Bishop's cloak,
To mak it shorter by the hood.

GLOSSARY

Gripet = seized, apprehended
Loun = rascal, rogue
Knowe = small round hillock
Kith and kin = friends and relations

Text Authorship:

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Hughie Graham", copyright © 2019, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Researcher for this page: Ferdinando Albeggiani

This text was added to the website: 2013-03-25
Line count: 24
Word count: 160

Hughie Graham
Language: French (Français)  after the Scottish (Scots) 
Nos seigneurs sont allés dans les montagnes
Chasser le daim ;
Et ils ont arrêté  Hughie Graham,
Pour avoir volé la jument de l'évêque.

Et ils lui ont lié mains et pieds,
Et conduit à la ville de Stirling;
Les gars et les filles l'ont rejoint là,
Criant, « Hughie Graham, tu es un vaurien ».

Ils l'ont conduit à la butte aux gibets,
Il regardait la potence,
Pourtant jamais ses joues ne perdirent couleurs
Jamais il ne voila ses yeux.

Il regarda longuement alentour
Pour voir ce qu'il pourrai discerner,
Et là, il vit son vieux père,
Et il pleura amèrement.

Ô retient ta langue, mon cher père,
Et laisse couler tes larmes ;
Tes pleurs sont plus chers à mon cœur
Que tout ce qu'ils peuvent me faire :

Et tu peux dire à mes amis et mes parents
Que jamais je n'ai trahi leur sang ;
Et s'il rencontrent la cape de l'évêque,
Qu'ils la raccourcissent de la capuche.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from Scottish (Scots) to French (Français) copyright © 2019 by Pierre Mathé, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
    Contact: 

Based on:

 

This text was added to the website: 2019-04-04
Line count: 24
Word count: 158