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I pastori

Language: Italian (Italiano)

Settembre, andiamo. É tempo di migrare.
Ora in terra d'Abruzzi i miei pastori
Lascian gli stazzi e vanno verso il mare:
Scendono all'Adriatico selvaggio
Che verde è come i pascoli dei monti.

Han bevuto profondamente ai fonti
Alpestri, che sapor d'acqua natìa
Rimanga nei cuori esuli a conforto,
Che lungo illuda la lor sete in via.
Rinnovato hanno verga d'avellano.

E vanno pel tratturo antico al piano,
Quasi per un erbal fiume silente,
Su le vestigia degli antichi padri.
O voce di colui che primamente
Conosce il tremolar della marina!

Ora lungh'esso il litoral cammina
La greggia. Senza mutamento è l'aria.
Il sole imbionda sì la viva lana
Che quasi dalla sabbia non divaria.
Isciacquìo, calpestìo, dolci romori.

Ah perchè non son io co' miei pastori?


Translation(s): FRE

List of language codes

Submitted by Robert Grady

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) (Guy Laffaille) , "Les bergers", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.

Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:01:16
Line count: 21
Word count: 126

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Les bergers

Language: French (Français) after the Italian (Italiano)

Septembre, allons-y. Il est temps de migrer.
Maintenant dans la terre des Abruzzes, mes bergers
Quittent leurs estives et vont vers la mer :
Ils descendent vers l'Adriatique sauvage,
Verte comme les prairies dans les montagnes.

Ils ont bu profondément aux fontaines
Alpines pour que la saveur de l'eau née là
Reste dans leurs cœurs d'exilés comme réconfort,
Et longtemps apaise leur soif sur la route.
Ils ont renouvelé leur baguette de noisetier.

Et ils vont sur l'antique sentier vers la plaine
Presque comme un flot silencieux herbeux,
Dans les traces de leurs anciens pères.
Ô voix de celui qui le premier
A connu le tremblement de la mer !

Maintenant le long du rivage marche
Le troupeau. Sans mouvement est l'air.
Le soleil blanchit tant la laine vivante
Qu'on ne peut presque pas la distinguer du sable.
Éclaboussure, piétinement, doux sons.

Ah, pourquoi ne suis-je pas avec mes bergers ?


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Authorship

  • Translation from Italian (Italiano) to French (Français) copyright © 2013 by Guy Laffaille, (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.

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Based on

 

Text added to the website: 2013-03-18.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:05:09
Line count: 21
Word count: 151