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Cando a luniña aparece
i o sol nos mares se esconde,
todo é silencio nos campos,
todo na ribeira dorme.
Quedan as veigas sin xente,
sin ovelliñas os montes,
a fonte sin rosas vivas,
os árbores sin cantores.
Medroso o vento que pasa
os pinos xigantes move,
i á voz que levanta triste,
outra máis triste responde.
Son as campanas que tocan,
que tocan en sons de morte,
i ó corazón din: N'olvides
ós que para sempre dormen.
¡Que triste! ¡Que hora tan triste
aquela en que o sol se esconde,
en que as estrelliñas pálidas
tímidamente relosen!
Aló as montañas confusas
de espesas niebras se croben,
i a casa branca en que el vive
en sombra espesa se envolve.
En vano miro e máis miro,
que os velos da negra noite
entre ela i os meus olliños
traidoramente se poñen.
¿Que fas ti mentras, meu ben?
Dime donde estás, en donde,
que te aspero e nunca chegas,
que te chamo e non respondes.
¿Morreches, meu queridiño?
¿O mar sin fondo tragoute?
¿Leváronte as ondas feras
ou te perdeches nos montes?
Vou perguntando ós airiños,
vou perguntando ós pastores,
ás verdes ondas pergunto
e ninguén ¡ai! me responde.
Os aires mudiños pasan,
os pastoriños non me oien,
i as xordas ondas fervendo
contra os penedos se rompen.
Mais ti non morreche, ingrato,
nin te perdeches nos montes;
ti quisais mentras que eu peno,
dos meus pesares te goces.
¡Coitada de min! ¡Coitada!
Que este meu peitiño nobre
foi para ti deble xunco
que ó menor vento se torce.
¡I en recompensa ti olvídasme!
Dasme fel, e dasme a morte...
¡Que este é o pago, desdichada,
que á que ben quer dan os homes!
Mais ¡que importa! ben te quixen...
Querreite sempre... Así cómpre
a quen con grande firmesa,
vidiña i alma entregouche.
Ahí tes o meu corazón,
si o queres matar ben podes,
pero como estás ti dentro,
tamén si ti o matas, morres.
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When the solitary moon appears
And the sun hides in the seas
Everything is quiet in the fields,
Everything sleeps on the riverside.
The meadows are left without people,
Without innocent sheep the hills,
The fountain without bright roses,
The trees without singers.
Diffident the passing wind
Sways the giant pine trees,
And to the sad voice it raises
Sadder replies another.
It's the church bells that peal,
Which toll in tones of death,
And say to the heart: "Do not forget
Those who for ever sleep."
How sad! How sad is that hour
When the sun hides away,
When the pale twinkling stars
Glimmer timorously!
Yonder the blurred mountains
Are blanketed by thick fogs,
And the white house where he dwells
Wraps itself in thick shadow.
I look and look again in vain,
For the veils of the black night
Interpose themselves treacherously
Between it and my searching eyes.
What are you doing meanwhile, my boon?
Tell me where you are, where,
For I expect you and you never come,
For I call you and you don't answer.
Did you perish, my dearie? Did the
Fathomless sea swallow you up?
Did the raging waves wash you away
Or did you lose your way in the hills?
I go about asking the breezes,
I go about asking the shepherds,
I question the green waves
And no one aye! answers me.
The winds pass by blamelessly mute,
The dear shepherds do not hear me,
And the deaf waves churning
Crash against the stacks.
But you did not perish or lost
Your way in the hills, ingrate;
You, perhaps, while I grieve
Take pleasure in my sorrows.
Hapless me! Hapless!
For this poor breast of mine, noble,
Was to you a yielding reed
That bends with the lightest breeze.
And you forget me in recompense!
You give me gall and you give me
Death, for such is men's payment
To she who loves true, forlorn one!
But no matter! I loved you true...
I will always love you...Thus it
Behooves her who with great resolve
Surrendered dear life and soul to you.
There you have my heart at hand,
If you want to kill it you indeed can,
But since you are inside,
If you kill it, you too die.
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