Na Morte de Curros - Los Tamara traduction en anglais

Na Morte de Curros

Na Morte de Curros

Coa ialma ferida, cheiña de mágoas,
Nos ollos as bágoas no peito o dolor,
Deixounos a todos a horrible noticia,
Morreu de galicia o enxebre cantor.

O excelso poeta do chan galiciano,
Baixo o sol cubano avida rindiu,
Si da súa morte a conciencia tiña
Lonxe da terriña, que pena sentiu.

Chorade poetas sair e loitade,
Paxaros piade co triste piar,
Chorade penedos, valados, ponbiñas,
Chorade anduriñas, airiños chorar,
Que solo tristura no aire se aspire,
Que todo respire quebranto e dolor,
I as almas anvoltas de angustia e morriña,
Morreu da terriña o enxebre cantor.

Foi a súa vida, vida de amarguras,
Pracer e dozuras xamais puido ter
Pra esas almas tristes de loito cubertas
I o dolor abertas de doce morrer.

Morreu da terriña o enxembre cantor.

In The Death of Curros

In The Death of Curros

With a wounded soul, full of pains,
With the tears in my eyes, the pain in the chest,
The awful news has left us all,
Galicia's native singer died.

The sublime poet of the Galician land,
Surrendered his avid life under the Cuban sun,
If he had the conscience of his death,
Far from the homeland, what pain he would have felt.

Weep, poets, go out and fight,
Birds, mourn with a sad cry,
Weep, stones, fences, doves,
Weep, swallows, winds, weep,
May only sadness be breathed in the air,
May everything breathe sorrow and pain,
And the souls wrapped in anguish and longing,
The native singer of the homeland is dead.

His life was a life of bitterness,
He could never find pleasure and sweetness,
For those sad souls covered with mourning,
And pain opened to a sweet death.

The native singer of the homeland is dead.