Translation © by Salvador Pila

Why openest thou afresh the spring of my...
Language: English 
Available translation(s): CAT
Why openest thou afresh the spring of my grief, 
O son of Alpin, 
inquiring how Oscar fell? 
My eyes are blind with tears;
but memory beams on my heart.
How can I relate the mournful death
of the head of the people!
Chief of the warriors, Oscar, my son, 
shall I see thee no more!
He fell as the moon in a storm; 
as the sun from the midst of his course,
when clouds rise from the waste of the waves, 
when the blackness of the storm
inwraps the rocks of Ardannider. 
I, like an ancient oak on Morven, 
I moulder alone in my place. 
The blast hath lopped my branches away;
and I tremble at the wings of the north.
Chief of the warriors, Oscar, my son! 
Shall I see thee no more!

But, son of Alpin, the hero fell not harmless 
as the grass of the field; 
the blood of the mighty was on his sword, 
and he travelled with death through the ranks of their pride. 
But Oscar, thou son of Caruth, 
thou hast fallen low! 
No enemy fell by thy hand. 
Thy spear was stained with the blood of thy friend.

Dermid and Oscar were one: 
They reaped the battle together.
Their friendship was strong as their steel; 
and death walked between them to the field.
They came on the foe like two rocks
falling from the brows of Ardven.
Their swords were stained with the blood of the valiant:
warriors fainted at their names. 
Who was equal to Oscar, but Dermid? 
and who to Dermid, but Oscar!

They killed mighty Dargo in the field;
Dargo who never fled in war. 
His daughter was fair as the morn; 
mild as the beam of night.
Her eyes, like two stars in a shower: 
her breath, the gale of spring: 
her breasts as the new-fallen snow 
floating on the moving heath.
The warriors saw her, and loved;
their souls were fixed on the maid. 
Each loved her as his fame; 
each must possess her or die. 
But her soul was fixed on Oscar; 
the son of Caruth was the youth of her love. 
She forgot the blood of her father; 
and loved the hand that slew him.

Son of Caruth, said Dermid,
I love; O Oscar, I love this maid. 
But her soul cleaveth unto thee; 
and nothing can heal Dermid. 
Here, pierce this bosom, Oscar; 
relieve me, my friend, with thy sword.

My sword, son of Diaran, shall never 
be stained with the blood of Dermid.
Who then is worthy to slay me,
O Oscar, son of Caruth?
Let not my life pass away unknown.
Let none but Oscar slay me. 
Send me with honour to the grave, 
and let my death be renowned.

Dermid, make use of thy sword,
son of Diaran, wield thy steel. 
Would that I fell with thee! 
That my death came from the hand of Dermid!
They fought by the brook of the mountain,
by the streams of Branno. 
Blood tinged the running water,
and curdled round the mossy stones.
The stately Dermid fell;
he fell, and smiled in death.

And fallest thou, son of Diaran,
fallest thou by Oscar's hand! 
Dermid who never yielded in war,
thus do I see thee fall!
He went, and returned to the maid of his love; 
he returned, but she perceived his grief.

Why that gloom, son of Caruth? 
what shades thy mighty soul?
Though once renowned for the bow, O maid, 
I have lost my fame. 
Fixed on the tree by the brook of the hill,
is the shield of the valiant Gormur,
whom I slew in battle.
I have wasted the day in vain, 
nor could my arrow pierce it.
Let me try, son of Caruth,
the skill of Dargo's daughter.
My hands were taught the bow: 
my father delighted in my skill.

She went. He stood behind the shield. 
Her arrow flew, and pierced his breast.
"Blessed be that hand of snow;
and blessed that bow of yew!
Who but the daughter of Dargo
was worthy to slay the son of Caruth?
Lay me in the earth, my fair one;
Lay me by the side of Dermid."

Oscar! the maid replied,
I have the soul of the mighty Dargo. 
Well pleased I can meet death. 
My sorrow I can end.
She pierced her white bosom with the steel. 
She fell; she trembled, and died.

By the brook of the hill their graves are laid; 
a birch's unequal shade covers their tomb.
Often on their green earthen tombs
the branchy sons of the mountain feed,
When mid-day is all in flames, 
and silence over all the hills.

About the headline (FAQ)

Confirmed with The Works of Ossian the Son of Fingal. In two volumes. Translated from the Galic Language by James Macpherson. Vol. I. The Third Edition. London: Printed for T. Becket and P. A. Dehondt, MDCCLXV, pages 266-268.

Imitated by Arnault in Oscar et Dermide


Authorship

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

  • CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , subtitle: "La mort d'Oscar", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Research team for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Peter Rastl [Guest Editor]

Text added to the website: 2003-11-06 00:00:00
Last modified: 2019-06-04 09:47:40
Line count: 117
Word count: 774

Per què obres de nou, fill d'Alpin
Language: Catalan (Català)  after the English 
Per què obres de nou, fill d'Alpin,
la deu de la meva tristesa,
preguntant-me com Oscar morí?
Els meus ulls estan entelats de llàgrimes.
Però el record resplendeix al meu cor.
Com puc relatar la lamentable mort
del cabdill dels guerrers!
Cabdill dels herois, oh Oscar, fill meu,
no t'haig de veure mai més!
Ell caigué com la lluna en una tempesta,
com el sol al bell mig del seu curs;
quan els núvols s'enlairen de la falda de les onades;
quan la foscúria de la tempesta
embolcalla les roques d'Ardanniders.
Com un vell roure de Morven,
em podreixo solitari al meu lloc.
El cop de vent m'ha arrencat les branques;
les ales del vent del nord m'esparveren.
Cabdill dels herois, oh Oscar, fill meu,
no t'haig de veure mai més!

L'heroi, oh fill d'Alpin, no caigué tranquil•lament 
com l'herba damunt el camp,
la sang dels poderosos tenyia la seva espasa,
ell s'arrabassà, amb la mort, dels rangs de llur arrogància,
però Oscar, fill de Caruth,
caigué sense glòria!
La teva mà dreta no occí cap enemic.
La teva llança es tacà amb la sang del teu amic.

Dermid i Oscar eren una sola cosa:
junts dallaven les batalles.
Llur amistat era forta com les armes;
i en els camps, la mort caminava entre ells.
Ells carregaven contra l'enemic com dues roques,
que es precipiten del front d'Ardven.
Llurs espases es tenyien amb la sang dels intrèpids:
els guerrers tremolaven al sentir llurs noms.
Qui podia igualar Oscar que no fos Dermid?
I qui podia igualar Dermid que no fos Oscar!

Ells varen matar el poderós Dargo en el camp,
Dargo que mai havia fugit de la batalla.
La seva filla era bella, com el matí;
dolça, com la resplendor del capvespre.
Els seus ulls semblaven dos estels en la pluja:
el seu respir, l'hàlit de la primavera.
El seu pit, com neu acabada de caure
que volteja a l'ermàs gronxejant.
Ella fou vista pels herois i ells se'n enamoraren;
llurs ànimes quedaren fixades en la donzella.
Cadascú l'estimava com la seva anomenada;
cadascú volia posseir-la o morir.
Però l'ànima d'ella escollí Oscar;
el fill de Caruth fou el jovencell del seu amor.
Ella oblidà la sang del seu pare
i estimà la mà que l'havia mort.

“Fill de Caruth,” digué Dermid,
“Estimo, oh Oscar,! Estimo aquesta donzella.
Però la seva ànima és afecte a tu;
i res pot guarir Dermid.
Aquí, endinsa en aquest pit, oh Oscar;
ajuda el teu amic amb la teva espasa.”

“Mai la meva espasa, fill de Diaran!
Mai serà tacada amb la sang de Dermid.”
“Qui és doncs digne de matar-me,
oh Oscar, fill de Caruth!
No deixis que la meva vida s'acabi amb deshonra,
no deixis que ningú em mati que no sigui Oscar.
Envia'm amb honor a la tomba,
i que la glòria acompanyi la meva mort.” 

“Dermid, esgrimeix la teva espasa;
fill de Diaran, branda la teva arma.
Que jo caigui amb tu!
Que la meva mort sigui causada per la mà de Dermid!”
Lluitaren a costat del rierol de la muntanya,
prop del riu Branno.
La sang tenyí l'aigua que corria
i regalimava per les pedres molsoses.
Dermid, el soberg, caigué,
caigué i morí amb un somriure!

“I tu caus, fill de Diaran,
tu caus per la mà d'Oscar!
Dermid que mai retrocedí en el combat,
et veig aquí mort d'aquesta manera?”
Ell marxà i retornà vers la donzella del seu amor.
Retornà, però ella es donà compte de la seva aflicció.

Per què aquesta tristor, fill de Caruth!
Què ofusca la teva ànima poderosa?
Abans, oh donzella, jo era famós per l'arc
però ara he perdut el meu renom.
A l'arbre prop del rierol del tossal,
està penjat l'escut de l'ardit Gormur,
Gormur, a qui vaig matar en combat.
En va vaig malversar el dia,
i no el pogué travessar amb la meva fletxa.
Deixa'm, fill de Caruth,
provar la destresa de la filla de Dargo.
La meva mà ha après a tensar l'arc,
el meu pare estava content de la meva destresa.

Ella s'hi posà, ell es col•locà darrere l'escut.
La seva fletxa xiulà i travessà el pit del noi.
Salut a aquesta mà blanca com la neu,
salut també a aquest arc de teix;
qui, que no fos la filla de Dargo, hagués estat digne 
de matar el fill de Caruth?
Posa'm a la tomba, estimada meva;
posa'm a costat de Dermid.

Oscar, respongué la donzella,
la meva ànima és l'ànima del poderós Dargo.
Puc afrontar la mort amb joia.
Puc donar fi a la meva tristor.
Ella clavà l'acer al seu blanc pit.
Caigué, tremolà i morí! 

Llurs tombes són prop del rierol del tossal;
l'ombra imprecisa d'un bedoll cobreix llurs sepulcres.
Sovint els banyuts fills de la muntanya pasturen
damunt llurs tombes recobertes de verd.
Quan el migjorn escampa les seves flames abrusadores
i el silenci regna a tots els tossals.

Subtitle: "La mort d'Oscar"

About the headline (FAQ)

Authorship

  • Translation from English to Catalan (Català) copyright © 2017 by Salvador Pila, (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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Text added to the website: 2017-12-28 00:00:00
Last modified: 2017-12-28 12:55:56
Line count: 117
Word count: 816