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¡Castellanos de Castilla,
tratade ben ós gallegos;
cando van, van como rosas;
cando vén, vén como negros!
—Cando foi, iba sorrindo;
cando veu, viña morrendo
a luciña dos meus ollos,
o amantiño do meu peito.
Aquel máis que neve branco,
aquel de dozuras cheio,
aquel por quen eu vivía
e sin quen vivir non quero.
Foi a Castilla por pan,
e saramagos lle deron;
déronlle fel por bebida,
peniñas por alimento.
Déronlle, en fin, canto amargo
ten a vida no seu seo...
¡Castellanos, castellanos,
tendes corazón de ferro!
¡Ai!, no meu corazonciño
xa non pode haber contento,
que está de dolor ferido,
que está de loito cuberto.
Morreu aquel que eu quería,
e para min n'hai consuelo:
solo hai para min, Castilla,
a mala lei que che teño.
Premita Dios, castellanos,
castellanos que aborrezo,
que antes os gallegos morran
que ir a pedirvos sustento.
Pois tan mal corazón tendes,
secos fillos do deserto,
que si amargo pan vos ganan,
dádesllo envolto en veneno.
Aló van, malpocadiños,
todos de esperanzas cheios,
e volven, ¡ai!, sin ventura,
con un caudal de desprezos.
Van probes e tornan probes,
van sans e tornan enfermos,
que anque eles son como rosas,
tratádelos como negros.
¡Castellanos de Castilla,
tendes corazón de aceiro,
alma como as penas dura,
e sin entrañas o peito!
En trós de palla sentados,
sin fundamentos, soberbos,
pensás que os nosos filliños
para servirvos naceron.
E nunca tan torpe idea,
tan criminal pensamento
coupo en máis fatuas cabezas
ni en máis fatuos sentimentos.
Que Castilla e castellanos,
todos nun montón, a eito,
non valen o que unha herbiña
destes nosos campos frescos.
Solo pezoñosas charcas
detidas no ardente suelo,
tes, Castilla, que humedezan
esos teus labios sedentos.
Que o mar deixoute olvidada
e lonxe de ti correron
as brandas auguas que traen
de prantas cen semilleiros.
Nin arbres que che den sombra,
nin sombra que preste alento...
llanura e sempre llanura,
deserto e sempre deserto...
Esto che tocou, coitada,
por herencia no universo,
¡miserable fanfarrona!...
triste heirencia foi por certo.
En verdad non hai, Castilla,
nada como ti tan feio,
que aínda mellor que Castilla,
valera decir inferno.
¿Por que aló foches, meu ben?
¡Nunca tal houberas feito!
¡Trocar campiños frolidos
por tristes campos sin rego!
¡Trocar tan craras fontiñas,
ríos tan murmuradeiros,
por seco polvo que nunca
mollan as bágoas do ceo!
Mais, ¡ai!, de onde a min te foches
sin dor do meu sentimento,
i aló a vida che quitaron,
aló a mortiña che deron.
Morreches, meu queridiño,
e para min n'hai consuelo,
que onde antes te vía, agora
xa solo unha tomba vexo.
Triste como a mesma noite,
farto de dolor o peito,
pídolle a Dios que me mate,
porque xa vivir non quero.
Mais en tanto no me mata,
castellanos que aborrezo,
hei, para vergonza vosa,
heivos de cantar xemendo:
¡Castellanos de Castilla,
tratade ben ós gallegos;
cando van, van como rosas;
cando vén, vén como negros!
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Castilians of Castile,
Treat Galicians well;
When they depart, they leave like roses;
When they return, they come like Negroes!
"When he left he went away smiling;
When he returned he came dying,
The mild light of my eyes,
The gentle lover of my bosom.
"The one whiter than snow,
The one full of sweetness,
The one I lived for
And without whom I do not wish to live.
"He went to Castile for bread,
And they gave him wild radishes;
They handed him gall for drink,
Poignant sorrows for nourishment.
"They gave him, in short, all that life
Has of bitterness in her bosom...
Castilians, Castilians,
You have a heart of iron!
"Ah! There can no longer be
Happiness in my poor heart,
For it is wounded by pain,
For it is cloaked in mourning.
"Passed away he whom I loved,
And there is no comfort for me:
There is only for me, Castile,
The evil charter I hold against you.
"May God permit, Castilians,
Castilians I loathe,
That Galicians should die before going
To solicit a livelihood from you.
"For you have such an evil heart,
Shrivelled sons of the desert,
That if they earn some bitter bread
You give it to them wrapped in poison.
"There they go, the poor unfortunate ones,
Every one full of hopes,
And they return aye! without fortune,
With a river of slights.
"They depart poor and they return poor,
They go healthy and they come back sick,
For although they are like roses
You treat them like Negroes.
"Castilians of Castile,
You have a heart of steel,
A soul hard as the boulders,
And a breast without innards!
"Seated upon thrones of straw,
Without arguments, arrogant,
You fancy that our sons
Were born to serve you.
"And never such a foolhardy idea,
Such a criminal thought,
Found place in more fatuous heads
Or in more fatuous sentiments.
"For Castile and Castilians,
All piled willy-nilly in one heap,
Are not worth a blade of green grass
From these fresh fields of ours.
"Only ponds of toxic water
Stagnant on the scorching ground
Have you, Castile, to moisten
Those thirsty lips of yours with.
"For the sea forsook you
And far away from you flowed
The soft waters that fetch
A hundred seed-banks of plants.
"Neither trees to give you shade
Nor shadow to lend vitality...
Plain and unrelenting plain,
Desert and unrelenting desert...
"This was your alloted inheritance
In the universe, ill-starred one,
Miserable braggart!...
A dismal inheritance for certain.
"In truth, Castile, there is
Nothing quite as ugly as you,
For even better than Castile
Would be to say hell.
"Why did you go there, my boon?
You should never have done so!
To exchange lovely flowery fields
For dismal ones without watering!
"To exchange dear fountains so clear,
Rivers so murmuring,
For dry dust that never
Heaven's teardrops dampen!
"Yet aye! you departed from me
Without qualm about my feelings,
And over there they took your life,
Over there they handed you a tragic death.
"You passed away, my dearie,
And for me there is no comfort,
For where aforetime I saw you,
Now a tomb only I see.
"Sad as the very night,
Full of pain my chest,
I ask God to slay me
Because I no longer wish to live.
"But as long as he doesn't slay me,
Castilians I loathe,
I will, to your shame,
I will sing to you whimpering:
"Castilians of Castile,
Treat Galicians well;
When they depart, they leave like roses;
When they return, they come like Negroes!"
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