by Eugene-Auguste Roger de Bully (1806 - 1866), as Roger de Beauvoir
Translation © by Shawn Thuris

Language: French (Français) 
Available translation(s): ENG
Ma ville, ma belle ville,
C'est Grenade au frais jardin.
C'est le palais d'Aladin,
Qui vaut Cordoue et Séville.

Tous ses balcons sont ouverts,
Tous ses bassins diaphanes,
Toute la cour des Sultanes
S'y tient sous les myrthes verts.

Ainsi près de Zoraïde,
A sa voix donnant l'essor,
Chantait la jeune Zaïde,
Le pied dans ses mules d'or.

La reine lui dit: "Ma fille,
D'où viens-tu donc?" Je n'en sais rien.
"N'as-tu donc pas de famille?"
Votre amour est tout mon bien;

O ma reine, j'ai pour père
Ce soleil plein de douceurs;
La sierra, c'est ma mère,
Et les étoiles mes soeurs.

Ce pendant sur la colline,
Zaïde à la nuit pleurait:
"Hélas! je suis orpheline,
De moi qui se chargerait?"

Un cavalier vit la belle,
La prit sur sa selle d'or.
Grenade, hélas! est loin d'elle,
Mais Zaïde y rêve encor.


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, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (Shawn Thuris) , title 1: "Zaide", copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 28
Word count: 143

Language: English  after the French (Français) 
My city, my lovely city,
Is Granada with its cool garden.
Aladdin's palace is there,
The equal of Cordova and Seville.

All her balconies are open,
All her fountains' basins clear;
All the sultans' court
Is held beneath the green myrtles.

Thus near to Zoraide,
Letting her voice run free,
Sang the young Zaide,
Her feet in golden sandals.

The queen said to her, "My girl,
Where do you come from?" I know not.
"Have you then no family?"
Your love is all my happiness.

Oh my queen, for father I have
This sun full of sweetness;
The sierra is my mother,
And my sisters are the stars.

But then upon the hill
Zaide wept to the night:
"Ah! I am just an orphan,
Who will care for me?"

A knight saw the pretty girl,
Took her upon his golden saddle.
Granada, alas, is far from her,
But Zaide still dreams of it.


  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © by Shawn Thuris, (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.

Based on


This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 28
Word count: 153