by
Armand Renaud (1836 - 1895)
Sabre en main
Language: French (Français)
Available translation(s): ENG
J'ai mis à mon cheval sa bride,
Sa bride et sa selle d'or ;
Tous les deux, par le monde aride,
Nous allons prendre l'essor.
J'ai le cœur froid, l'œil sans vertige.
Je n'aime et je ne crains rien.
Au fourreau, mon sabre s'afflige.
Qu'il sorte et qu'il frappe bien !
Le turban autour de la tête,
Sur mon dos le manteau blanc,
Je veux m'en aller à la fête
Où la mort danse en hurlant ;
Où, la nuit, on brûle les villes,
Tandis que l'habitant dort,
Où, pour les multitudes viles,
On est grand quand on est fort.
Je veux qu'à mon nom les monarques
Tiennent leur tête à deux mains,
Que mon sabre enlève les marques
Du joug au front des humains.
Je veux que l'essaim de mes tentes,
De mes chevaux aux longs crins,
Que mes bannières éclatantes,
Mes piques, mes tambourins
Soient sans nombre comme la horde
Des mouches, quand il fait chaud,
Qu'à mes pieds l'univers se torde,
Comprenant le peu qu'il vaut !
Confirmed with Les nuits persanes par Armand Renaud, Paris, Alphonse Lemerre, 1870, pages 117-118.
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):
- ENG English (Laura Prichard) , "Saber in hand", copyright © 2021, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust
[Administrator] , Ted Perry
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 28
Word count: 170
Saber in hand
Language: English  after the French (Français)
I’ve bridled my horse
and saddled him in gold.
We two, through this arid world,
Will dash away.
I have a cold heart, an unwavering gaze.
I love nothing and I fear nothing.
In its sheath, my saber chafes.
May it soon be drawn and strike true!
A turban around my head,
On my back, a white cloak,
I want to join the revelry
Where Death is in full howl;
A place where, at night, one torches the towns
While the inhabitants slumber,
Where, compared to the lowly masses,
One is greatest when one is strong.
I’d like, at the sound of my name, for monarchs
To hide their heads in their hands,
And for my saber to cut away the brands
Of servitude from the foreheads of humanity.
I long for the throng of my tents,
Of my long-maned horses,
For my dazzling banners,
My pikes, my tambourines,
They might be limitless, like a swarm
Of flies as the weather grows warm,
So that at my feet the whole universe bows,
Understanding how little they matter to me!
Translator's note for stanza 1, line 4: "prendre son essor" is a French expression that means to take flight, to soar up, to flourish
Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2021 by Laura Prichard, (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:
This text was added to the website: 2021-03-11
Line count: 28
Word count: 179