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#littleewe
On a ridge so nice, Nest of Paradise, Here come in the end, Down the slope descend Three white flocks in queue And three shepherds, too, From Moldavia land, Transylvania land, And from Vrancea land. And the second one, With the Vrancea's son, Well, they schemed a lot And devised a plot At the end of day, Merciless to slay The Moldavian guy, Richer – cant' deny – For has many sheep, Which are fair and leap, Horses trained for ride, And dogs full of pride. But that ewe, so cool, With a gray-white wool Three days in a row Spoke in a voice low, And walked to and fro. – O, gray little ewe And with white wool, too, Three days in a row Spoke in a voice low!                     Doesn't the grass grow Or you're feeling blue, My beloved ewe? – O, my shepherd dear, Bring your sheep down here Near the woods today Where we have much hay, In the shade you'll stay. Master, hear my clue, Call a dog to you, Bold and of good breed, True to you, indeed, For when night is near, They will **** you, dear, The Vrancea's mean son And the other one! –  My ewe with meek eyes          If you are so wise When you see me dead On a foxtail bed, Tell the Vrancea's son And the other one     To dig me a tomb In this pasture's womb, Near the pen for sheep To bury me deep; Or behind the logs To hear all my dogs.             Tell them what I say, Near my head then lay A pipe made of beech Its nice song to reach, A pipe made of bone, With a doleful tone; A pipe thin and real, Which plays with much zeal! Wind will sweep the grass And through them will pass All the sheep will flee Here to cry for me Shedding tears a sea!                 If I'm killed, don't run, But tell everyone I married one day A queen far away, The world's bride, I'd say;                   At my wedding, tell That a bright star fell; That the moon and sun Held my wreath for fun.             Firs and oaks with nests Were my lovely guests, Priests, the mounts with herds, Fiddlers, the wild birds, Birdies stood to watch, Stars shone like a torch! And I'm asking thee If one day you see Old mom feeling down, With a belted gown Crying in despair, Asking everywhere, Shouting in the air:             "People full of joy Who has seen my boy Shepherd proud and dear, Slim and without fear? His face soft as silk And as white as milk;                   His moustache so sweet, Yellow ear of wheat;           His hair combed with skill Black like raven's quill; His eyes deep and droll, Two pieces of coal?” You, my dearest sheep, Pity her and weep Then tell her somehow That I'm married now To a young queen nice, There, in Paradise,                       But don't give detail To that mother frail, That on wedding night A star lost its light Firs and oaks with nests Were my lovely guests, Priests, the mounts with herds, Fiddlers, the wild birds, Birdies stood to watch, Stars shone like a torch!
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Jul 15, 2022
Jul 15, 2022 at 9:04 AM UTC
octavian-cocos
Little Ewe [Mioriţa - a Romanian folk ballad translated by Octavian Cocoş]
On a ridge so nice, Nest of Paradise, Here come in the end, Down the slope descend Three white flocks in queue And three shepherds, too, From Moldavia land, Transylvania land, And from Vrancea land. And the second one, With the Vrancea's son, Well, they schemed a lot And devised a plot At the end of day, Merciless to slay The Moldavian guy, Richer – cant' deny – For has many sheep, Which are fair and leap, Horses trained for ride, And dogs full of pride. But that ewe, so cool, With a gray-white wool Three days in a row Spoke in a voice low, And walked to and fro. – O, gray little ewe And with white wool, too, Three days in a row Spoke in a voice low!                     Doesn't the grass grow Or you're feeling blue, My beloved ewe? – O, my shepherd dear, Bring your sheep down here Near the woods today Where we have much hay, In the shade you'll stay. Master, hear my clue, Call a dog to you, Bold and of good breed, True to you, indeed, For when night is near, They will **** you, dear, The Vrancea's mean son And the other one! –  My ewe with meek eyes          If you are so wise When you see me dead On a foxtail bed, Tell the Vrancea's son And the other one     To dig me a tomb In this pasture's womb, Near the pen for sheep To bury me deep; Or behind the logs To hear all my dogs.             Tell them what I say, Near my head then lay A pipe made of beech Its nice song to reach, A pipe made of bone, With a doleful tone; A pipe thin and real, Which plays with much zeal! Wind will sweep the grass And through them will pass All the sheep will flee Here to cry for me Shedding tears a sea!                 If I'm killed, don't run, But tell everyone I married one day A queen far away, The world's bride, I'd say;                   At my wedding, tell That a bright star fell; That the moon and sun Held my wreath for fun.             Firs and oaks with nests Were my lovely guests, Priests, the mounts with herds, Fiddlers, the wild birds, Birdies stood to watch, Stars shone like a torch! And I'm asking thee If one day you see Old mom feeling down, With a belted gown Crying in despair, Asking everywhere, Shouting in the air:             "People full of joy Who has seen my boy Shepherd proud and dear, Slim and without fear? His face soft as silk And as white as milk;                   His moustache so sweet, Yellow ear of wheat;           His hair combed with skill Black like raven's quill; His eyes deep and droll, Two pieces of coal?” You, my dearest sheep, Pity her and weep Then tell her somehow That I'm married now To a young queen nice, There, in Paradise,                       But don't give detail To that mother frail, That on wedding night A star lost its light Firs and oaks with nests Were my lovely guests, Priests, the mounts with herds, Fiddlers, the wild birds, Birdies stood to watch, Stars shone like a torch!
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