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—Dios bendiga todo, nena;
rapaza, Dios che bendiga,
xa que te dou tan grasiosa,
xa que te dou tan feitiña,
que anque andiven moitas terras,
que anque andiven moitas vilas,
coma ti non vin ningunha
tan redonda e tan bonita.
¡Ben haia quen te pariu!
¡Ben haia, amén, quen te cría!
—Dios vos garde, miña vella,
gárdevos Santa Mariña,
que abofé sos falangueira,
falangueira e ben cumprida.
—Meniña, por ben falada
ningunha se perdería:
Cóllense antre os paxariños
aqueles que mellor trían;
morre afogado antre as pallas
o pitiño que non chía.
—Pois si vós foras pitiño,
dígovos, mina velliña,
que dese mal non morreras,
que chiar ben chiarías.
—¡Ai! ¡Que, si non, de min fora,
miña filla, miña filla!
Sin agarimo no mundo
desde que nasín orfiña,
de porta en porta pedindo
tiven que pasar a vida.
E cando a vida se pasa
cal vida de pelegrina,
que busca pelegrinando
o pan de tódolos días,
de cote en lares alleos,
de cote en estrañas vilas,
hai que deprender estonces
por non morrer, coitadiña,
ó pé dun valo tumbada
e de todos esquencida,
o chío dos paxariños,
o recramo das pombiñas,
o ben falar que comprase,
a homildá mansa que obriga.
—¡Moito sabés, miña vella,
moito de sabiduría!
¡Quen poidera correr mundo
por ser como vós sabida!
Que anque traballos se pasen
aló polas lonxes vilas,
tamén ¡que cousas se saben!,
tamén ¡que cousas se miran!
—Máis val que n'as mires nunca,
que estonces te perderías:
¡O que ó sol mirar precura
logo quedará sin vista!
—Dirés verdá, miña vella,
mais craras as vosas niñas
emprestouvos hastra agora
groriosa Santa Lucía.
—Moita devozón lle teño,
¡miña santiña bendita!,
mais non sempre as niñas craras
son proba de craras vistas.
Moitas eu vin como a augua
que corre antre as penas frías
gorgorexando de paso,
sereniña, sereniña,
que antre tiniebras pousaban,
que antre tiniebras vivían,
nas tiniebras dos pecados
que son as máis escondidas.
—Si de pecados falades,
é pan que onde queira espiga,
en tódalas partes crese,
en todas partes se cría;
mais uns son cor de veneno,
outros de sangre runxida,
outros, como a noite negros,
medran cas lurpias dañinas
que os paren entre ouro e seda,
arrolados pola envidia,
mantidos pola luxuria,
mimados pola cobiza.
miña santiña bendita!,
—«Quen ben está, ben estea.»
Déixate estar, miña filla,
nin precures correr mundo,
nin tampouco lonxes vilas,
que o mundo dá malos pagos
a quen lle dá prendas finas,
e nas vilas mal fixeras
que aquí facer non farías,
que anque ese pan balorento
en todas partes espiga,
nunhas apoucado crese,
noutras medra que adimira.
—Falás como un abogado,
e calquera pensaría
que deprendestes nos libros
tan váreas palabrerías,
todiñas tan ben faladas,
todiñas tan entendidas;
e tal medo me puñeches
que xa de aquí non saíra
sin levar santos-escritos
e medalliñas benditas
nun lado do meu xustillo,
xunto dunha negra figa,
que me librasen das meigas
e máis das lurpias dañinas.
—Que te libren de ti mesma,
pídelle a Dios, rapariga,
que somos nós para nós
as lurpias máis enemigas.
Mais xa vén a noite vindo
co seu manto de estreliñas;
xa recolleron o gando
que pastaba na cortiña;
xa lonxe as campanas tocan,
tocan as Ave-Marías;
cada conexo ó seu tobo,
lixeiro, lixeiro tira,
que é mal compañeiro a noite
si a compañeiro se obriga.
Mais, ¡ai!, que eu non teño tobo
nin burata conocida,
nin tellado que me cruba
dos ventos da noite fría.
¡Que vida a dos probes, nena!
¡Que vida! ¡Que amarga vida!
Mais Noso Señor foi probe,
¡que esto de alivio nos sirva!
—Amén, miña vella, amén;
mais, polas almas benditas,
hoxe dormirés nun leito
feito de palliña triga,
xunta do lar que vos quente
ca borralliña encendida,
e comerés un caldiño
con patacas e nabizas.
—¡Bendito sea Dios, bendito!
¡Bendita a Virxe María
que con tanto ben me acode
por unha man compasiva!
O Señor che dé fortuna
con moitos anos de vida;
¡vólvanseche as tellas de ouro,
as pedras de prata fina,
e cada gran seu diamante
che se volva cada día!
I agora, miña rapaza,
porque un pouco te adivirtas
bailando cas compañeiras
que garulan na cociña,
heiche de contar historias,
heiche de cantar copriñas,
heiche de tocar as cunchas,
miña carrapucheiriña.
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"May God bless everything, lassie.
God bless you, girl,
Since he made you so comely,
Since he made you so lovely,
For though I treaded many lands,
Though I walked through many villages,
I did not see the likes of you
So round and so pretty.
Good fortune to her who gave you birth!
Good luck, amen, to whoever raises you!"
"God keep you, my old woman.
Saint Marina keep you,
For you are in truth affectionate,
Talkative and courteous."
"Lass, for speaking pleasantly
No woman would go astray:
From among the little birds
The better warblers are chosen,
Smothered in the straw dies
The little chick that doesn't cheep."
"Then if little chick you were
I tell you, my dear old woman,
You would not perish of that misfortune,
For cheep you would cheep indeed."
"Ah! What would become of me otherwise,
My daughter, my daughter!
Without shelter in the world
Since I was born a poor orphan child,
Begging from door to door
I had to spend my whole life through.
And when life resembles
The life of a pilgrim
Who seeks the daily bread
In her journeying,
Always upon alien lands,
Always in strange towns,
One has to learn then,
So as not to die ill-fated
At the foot of a stonewall
And ignored by everyone,
The chirping of the small birds,
The birdcall of the darling doves,
The pleasantry that endears,
The meekness that compels."
"How much you know, my old woman,
How much of wisdom!
Who could roam the world
To be experienced like you!
Even if hard times awaited
In those distant cities,
What things are learned as well!
What things are seen as well!"
"It's better that you never see them
Because you would go astray;
Whoever insists on gazing at the sun
Eventually goes blind!"
"You may be right, my old woman,
Nevertheless clear pupils
Has lent you till now
Blessed Saint Lucy."
"I have a lot of devotion for her,
My dear blessed saint!
But clear pupils are not always
A guarantee of pure sights.
Many I saw like the water
That glides among the cold rocks
Gurgling as it goes,
Undisturbed, undisturbed,
Which settled surrounded by murk,
Which dwelled shrouded in gloom,
In the darkness of sins
Which is concealed the most."
"If you speak of sins
They are bread that flowers where it pleases,
Everywhere it grows,
Everywhere it tillers,
But some own the colour of poison,
Others of scorched blood,
Others black like the night
Burgeon with the baneful hags
Who deliver them amid silk and gold,
Cuddled by jealousy,
Nurtured by lust,
Coddled by ambition...
My dear blessed saint!"
"'Leave well enough alone.'
Stay where you are, my daughter,
Do not yearn to see the world
Or far-away cities,
For the world rewards badly
Whoever gives it fine fabric,
And you'd make mischief in the city
That you would forgo here,
For although that moldy bread
Flowers everywhere,
In places it grows enfeebled,
In others it teems that astonishes."
"You talk like a lawyer,
And anybody would think
That you had learned from books
Such diversity of words,
Every one so well spoken,
Every one so discerning;
And you have made me so fearful
That I would never leave here
Without carrying holy scriptures
And blessed medals
In one side of my corset,
Together with a black fig
To fend off witches
And baneful hags."
"That they may protect you from yourself
Pray to God, young girl,
For we are to ourselves
The most harmful hags.
But see, here comes the night arriving
With its cloak of twinkling stars;
The livestock is home already
From the grazing yard;
Already the bells afar ring,
Ring out the Ave Marías;
Every rabbit to its burrow
Heads nimble nimble,
For the night is a bad companion
If companion it must be.
But alas! I do not have a burrow
Or fixed address
Or roof over my head
To fend off the winds of the chilly night.
What life lead the poor, lassie!
What life, what a bitter life!
Still Our Lord was poor,
May this console us!"
"Amen, my old woman, amen;
But for all hallows' sake
Today you will sleep on a bed
Made of comfy wheat straw,
Beside the stone oven that will keep you warm
With its warm, glowing embers,
And you will sup a hot broth
With potatoes and Swede leaves."
"Blessed be God, blessed!
Blessed Our Lady
Who so generously assists me
Through a compassionate hand!
May the Lord grant you fortune
And a life of many years;
May your roof tiles turn to gold,
The stones to fine silver,
And may each grain of yours
Turn into a diamond every day!
And presently, my girl,
So that you may have fun
Dancing with your mates
Who romp in the kitchen,
I will tell you stories,
I will sing you quatrains,
I will rub the seashells together,
My sweet kitchen maid."
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