Текст и перевод песни Julio Sosa feat. Orquesta de Leopoldo Federico - El Rosal de los Cerros

El Rosal de los Cerros

Viene amagando la noche,
Trayendo enancada el agua
Castiga el viento los montes,
Quebrando sus verdes ramas
Se alborotan las haciendas,
Buscan guarida las aves
Y en la costa 'e los arroyos
Se despeinan los sauzales.
Al tranco corto de un zaino
Llegó el ausente a las casas
Traiba frío hasta en los huesos,
Pero calor en el alma.
Abrió la puerta extrañao,
Notando un silencio santo
Y junto a un candil que humeaba
Vio la traición dentro 'el rancho.
Se le aflojaron las piernas
Al ver tamaña desgracia,
Se le extravió la mirada,
Se le añudó la garganta.
Trago saliva pa'dentro,
Sintió calor en la cara
Y mascando su dolor,
Dijo el criollo estas palabras.
"A usté debiera matarlo,
Pa'que soltase el veneno,
Pero al filo de mi daga
No ha de mellarlo un rastrero".
Mas luego mirando a su hembra:
"No temblés, no seas cobarde
Que no es a vos a quien busco,
Sino al hijo de mi sangre".
Saco el cachorro 'e la cuna,
Lo apretó contra su pecho
Y envolviéndolo en su poncho,
Salió con tranco resuelto.
Acomodó al inocente
En la cruz del zaino viejo
Y en la noche tormentosa,
Enderezó pa' los cerros.
Un relámpago siniestro
Cruzó por lo alto de un pico,
Y se vido al pobre gaucho,
Besando en la frente al hijo,
Tapó con su poncho pampa
Los ojos del zaino viejo
Y cerrándole las piernas,
Le puso a la muerte el pecho.
Y en el lugar que cayeron,
Comenta la gente 'el cerro,
Que ha florecido un rosal
Que va cubriendo unos huesos.

The Rose of the Hills

Night comes creeping in,
Bringing water in her stride.
The wind punishes the mountains,
Breaking their green branches.
The haciendas are in turmoil,
The birds seek shelter,
And on the banks of the streams,
The willow trees are disheveled.
At the short trot of a chestnut,
The absent one arrives home.
His bones were cold,
But his soul was warm.
He opened the door strangly,
Noticing a holy silence.
And beside a smoking candle,
He saw the betrayal within the shack.
His legs gave out
At the sight of such disgrace.
His gaze was lost,
His throat was tight.
He swallowed hard,
He felt his face burn.
And chewing on his pain,
The Creole spoke these words.
"I should kill you,
To let loose the poison,
But the edge of my dagger
Shall not be dulled by a creep."
But then looking at his woman:
"Don't tremble, don't be a coward,
For it is not you I seek,
But the child of my blood."
He took the young one from the cradle,
He pressed him to his chest,
And wrapping him in his poncho,
He left with a determined stride.
He placed the innocent child
On the back of the old chestnut.
And in the stormy night,
He headed for the hills.
A sinister lightning bolt
Crossed the peak of a mountain,
And the poor gaucho was seen,
Kissing his son on the forehead.
He covered the eyes of the old chestnut
With his poncho pampa.
And closing its legs,
He offered his chest to death.
And in the place where they fell,
The people of the hill tell,
That a rose bush has blossomed,
Which is covering some bones.