[guide.chat] The Bloody Fields of Flanders translation.
- From: "A. Machray" <a.machray@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: "Guide Chat" <guide.chat@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 2 Jun 2012 17:47:05 +0100
Closest translation to English,
Rough the wind in the clear day's dawning, Blows the clouds head over heels
over the bay
But there's more than a rough wind blowing, Through the Great Glen of the world
today.
It's a thought that would make our rats All those rogues that go boldly fresh
and gay.
Take the road to seek other pastures With their ill-ploys to sport and play.
No more will our handsome youths March to war when our braggarts arrogantly
crow.
Nor small children from pithead and village Mourn the ships sailing down the
Broomielaw.
Broken families in lands we've harried Will curse Scotland the Brave no more,
no more Black and white to each other married Make the vile barracks of their
masters bare.
So come all you at home with freedom, Never heed what the hooded crows croak
for Doom,
In your house all the children of Adam Will find bread, whisky and painted room,
When Maclean meets with his friends in Springburn All those roses and wild
cherries will turn to bloom,
And the black boy over there from far Nyanga Knocks the cruel gallows of the
burghers down.
Original,
"Roch the win in the clear day's dawin, blaws the cloods heilster-goudie ower
the bay
But there's mair nor a roch win blawin thro the great glen o the warld the day.
It's a thoch that maun gar oor rottans a they rogues that gang gallus, fresh an
gay.
tak the road an seek ither loanins a their ill ploys tae sport an play.
Nae mair will oor bonnie gallants mairch tae war whille oor braggarts crously
craw,
or wee weans frae pithied an clachan mourn the ships sailin doon the Broomielaw;
Broken faimlies in lands we've herriet will curse Scotland the brave, nae mair,
nae mair - black an white, ane til ither mairiet mak the vile barracks o their
maisters bare.
Sae come all ye at hame wi freedom, never heed whit the hoodies croak for doom;
In your hoose a the bairns o Adam will find breid, barley-bree an paintit room.
When McLean meets wi his peems in Springburn a they roses an geams will turn
tae bloom
an a black boy frae yont Nyanga dings the fell gallows o the burgers doon.
(Hamish Henderson)
There's a giant Toblerone in it for anyone who can understand it...)
Alex
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