Carlo Martello torna [o: ritorna] dalla battaglia di Poitiers; o Carlo Martello
Fabrizio De André| Traduzione inglese / English translation / Traduction anglaise... | |
| THE SONGE OF SYR CHARLES MARTEL On his Way Backe from the Battle of Poytiers Kynge Charles was on Hys Way backe from War, His Countree welcometh Hym Wreathynge Hym with Laurel, In this most warme of Springes The braue Victor's Armowr Doth shyne in the Svn. The Kynges Helmet was stayned With the red Blvde of bothe The Prynce and the Moor; Now, it is Love's Lvst that maketh Charles svffer greater Payne Than Hys bodilie Woundes. "Alas! War doth quench the Winner's Thyrste of Glory And doth appease Hys Longyng for Honowre, Yet He hath noe fuckynge Chaunce of makynge Loue, Then, he who imposeth the Chastitie Belte On Hys swete Spovse, he may well rvn the Riske Of loosynge the Keye when the Battle is ragyng!" Thvs is complainyng the Christian Kynge, Encirclyd bye swete Flowers Whyle wheat boweth at Hym; The Mirror of a clear Sprynge of Water Reflecteth the Prowd Victor Well saddlyd on Horsses Back. So suddenlie doth appeare in the Water A wonderfvlle Ymage, Lyke a Symbol of Loue, Betwyxte her longe, fayre Braydes Her naked Breastes do bothe Shyne in the warme Svn. "No fayrer Ymage haue I neuer ysene! Noewhere is svch a fayre maiden to bee met!" Saide Kyng Charles dismountyng qvicke frose Stede; "Ye prowde Knyghte, I warne Ye! An other Man doth enjoie mine Beautie. Ye shoude quench Yowre Thyrste to an easyer Sprynge!" Surprysyd by svlche sharpe Wordes And feelynge laughëd at Kynge Charles hee dyde stoppe; But Hunger hadde more Powre on Hym than Honovr, And tremblyng dyd the Kynge Slippe Hys Helmet off. The Kynge was a valyaunte Knyghte: He dyde deserue all Honowrs In that Situacyoun too; And when he had finisshyd Hys Dvtie He tryde so vncertaynlie To get on Hys Horsse agayne. The Mayden dyd stoppe Hym at once And a Bill handyd shee Svddenlie to Her Majestee: "Wel, ivste for Ye are my Lorde and Kynge, Ye owe me fyue Powndes, And 'tis a specyal Pryce." "Howe can ytt bee, the Lorde damne ytt alle, That all adventures in thys gracyous Kyngedome Ende vp regvlarlie wyth payinge a Whore? Damn, their Billes too are incresyd greatlye: I can remember that beffore I lefte Three Powndes were a fayrlye acceptable Pryce!" Then he prouyd to bee a Mother fvckere, and He got on Hys Stede As qvicke as Lyghtenynge; Whyppynge the poor Horsse to Deathe Among Wisteriae and Elders The Kynge dyd disappeare. Kynge Charles was on Hys Way backe from War, His Countree welcometh Hym Wreathynge Hym with Laurel, In this most warme of Springes The braue Victor's Armowr Doth shyne in the Svn! | CHARLES MARTEL RETURNS FROM THE BATTLE OF POITIERS King Charles was returning from the war. His land welcomes him, crowning him with a laurel. In the hot spring sun flashes the suit of armor of the victorious Sire. The blood of the prince and the Moor redden the crest, of identical color. But more than the wounds of the body, Charles felt the yearning for love. “If eagerness for glory and a thirst for honor extinguish war for the victor, it allows you not a moment to pursue love. "One, then, who imposes on the gentle wife the chastity belt - alas it is heavy - in battle can run the risk of losing the key.” Thus complains the Christian king. The grain bows down and flowers gather about. The mirror of the clear fountain reflects, proud in his saddle, the victor of the Moors. When here in the water is formed, marvelous vision, the symbol of love - in the fullness of the long blond braids the breast intermingles, naked in broad daylight. “Never was seen something more beautiful, never did I catch such a maid,” said King Charles, dismounting quickly from his saddle. “But oh, Knight, come no closer, that which you seek is already the joy of another. Quench your thirst from some easier spring.” Surprised by a response so sharp, feeling put down, King Charles stopped. But greater than honor was the power of abstinence. Trembling, his brown helm the King lifted off. This was the secret weapon by Charles often used in dire straights - to the woman appeared a big nose and the face of a goat, but it was her majesty. “If you were not my sovereign,” - Charles takes off his heavy sword - “I wouldn’t conceal the desire to run far away." "But since you are my Lord,” - Charles frees himself from the prison of his armor - “I must give myself over bare to every shame.” He was indeed a valiant knight, and even at that juncture was covered again with honor. And, conjoined at the end of the duel, uncertain, the saddle he tried to remount. Quickly the maiden harpooned him. Suddenly a bill she presents to her Lord. “Ah, just because you are my Lord, it’s five thousand lira, a special price.” “It’s ever possible, son of a bitch, that the adventures in this realm should all end up with big whores. "Even the price, then, can be criticized. I remember well that before I left there were lower prices of three thousand lira.” Thus spoken, he acted like a scoundrel - with the leap of a lion he mounted his steed. Whipping the horse as if it were a donkey, through the wisteria and elderberries the king disappeared. King Charles returned from the war. His land welcomes him, crowning him with a laurel. In the hot spring sun flashes the suit of armor of the victorious Sire. |
