The Spanish Ballad in English
Shasta M. Bryant
- 264 pages
- English
- ePUB (mobile friendly)
- Available on iOS & Android
The Spanish Ballad in English
Shasta M. Bryant
About This Book
This study offers an introduction to an important branch of Spanish literatureâthe romance, or ballad. Although a great many of these poems have been translated into English by various authors, they are not generally known nor easily accessible. Collected here for the first time in a single volume is a broad and representative sampling of romances in translation that encompasses historical ballads (including those about Spain's greatest folk hero, el Cid), Moorish ballads, and ballads of chivalry, love, and adventure.
For the collection, Shasta M. Bryant has written a perceptive commentary and critique in which he discusses the individual poems and compares the translation with the original; both texts are presented to facilitate comparison. For those who wish to pursue their reading further there is an index of romances that have been translated into English, along with the names of the translators. Although the text has been written with the non-specialist in mind, this book will be equally valuable for students of comparative literature and of medieval Spain.
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CHAPTER I
THE CID BALLADS
Cuidando Diego LaĂnez Por las menguas de su casa, Fidalga, rica y antigua, Antes de Iñigo y Abarca; Y viendo que le fallecen Fuerzas para la venganza Y que por sus luengos años Por sĂ no puede tomalla, Y que el de Orgaz se pasea Libre y exento en la plaza, Sin que nadie se lo impida, Lozano en el nombre y gala No puede dormir de noche Ni gustar de las viandas, Ni alzar del suelo los ojos Ni osa salir de la sala; Nin fablar con sus amigos, Antes les niega la fabla, Temiendo que les ofenda El aliento de su infamia. Estando, pues, combatiendo Con estas honrosas bascas, Para usar desta esperiencia Que no le saliĂł contraria | Diego Lainez brooding sat, His house was on decline, More ancient, rich and noble Than old Abarcaâs line. He saw the Count Lozano, Each day that flitted by, Ride past his door with mocking lip And insult in his eye. He had no hope of vengeance, He had no strength to fight, His drooping arm with weight of years Had lost its power to smite. By night he could not slumber, By day he could not eat, Nor lift his eyes from off the ground, Nor walk along the street. He dare not meet his comrades, Nor talk of bygone fame, Lest they should shrink with horror back Before his breath of shame. But while he writhed in anguish, And mourned his honor true, The wisdom that had come with years Now taught him what to do. |
MandĂł llamar sus tres fijos Y sin fablalles palabra, Les apretara uno a uno Los fidalgos tiernas palmas. | He bade his sons be summoned Of words he uttered none, But took their noble tender hands, And grasped them one by one. |
Non para mirar en ellos Las chiromĂĄnticas rayas, Que aquel fechicero abuso No habĂa nacido en España. Y poniendo al honor fuerza A pesar del tiempo y canas, A la frĂa sangre y venas, Nervios y arter... |