Joe Strummer and The Mescaleros - Minstrel Boy
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Joe Strummer and The Mescaleros - Minstrel Boy - оригинальный текст песни, перевод, видео
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The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His fathers sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him.
Land of song! said the warrior bard,
Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword at least thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!
The minstrel fell! - but the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again
For he tore is chords asunder;
And said no chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery.
Он на битву пошел, сын певца молодой,
Опоясан отцовским мечом;
Его арфа висит у него за спиной,
Его взоры пылают огнем.
"Все тебя предают, - барда слышится речь, -
Страна песен, родная страна,
Но тебе до конца не изменит мой меч,
И моя будет арфа верна!"
Пал он в битве... Но враг, что его победил,
Был бессилен над гордой душой;
Смолкла арфа: ее побежденный разбил,
П'орвал струны он все до одной.
"Ты отвагу, любовь прославлять создана, -
Молвил он, -так не знай же оков.
Твоя песнь услаждать лишь свободных должна,
Но не будет звучать меж рабов!"
Посвящена борьбе ирландского народа за независимость.
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His fathers sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him.
Land of song! said the warrior bard,
Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword at least thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!
The minstrel fell! - but the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again
For he tore is chords asunder;
And said no chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery.
Он на битву пошел, сын певца молодой,
Опоясан отцовским мечом;
Его арфа висит у него за спиной,
Его взоры пылают огнем.
"Все тебя предают, - барда слышится речь, -
Страна песен, родная страна,
Но тебе до конца не изменит мой меч,
И моя будет арфа верна!"
Пал он в битве... Но враг, что его победил,
Был бессилен над гордой душой;
Смолкла арфа: ее побежденный разбил,
П'орвал струны он все до одной.
"Ты отвагу, любовь прославлять создана, -
Молвил он, -так не знай же оков.
Твоя песнь услаждать лишь свободных должна,
Но не будет звучать меж рабов!"
Посвящена борьбе ирландского народа за независимость.
The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the Ranks of Death You'll Find Him;
HIS FATHERS SWORD HE HAS GIRDED ON
And HIS Wild Harp Slung Behind Him.
Land of Song! Said The Warrior Bard,
Throw All the World Betrays Thee,
One Sword at Least Thy Rights Shall Guard,
One Faithful Harp Shall Praise Thee!
The Minstrel Fell! - But the Foeman's Chain
COULD Not Bring that Proud Soul Under;
The Harp He Loved Ne'er Spoke Again
For he tore is chords asunder;
And said no chains Shall Sully thee,
Thou Soul of Love and Brary!
Thy Songs Were Made for the Pure and Free,
They Shall Never Sound in Slavey.
He went to the battle, the son of a young singer,
Disgered by his father's sword;
His harp hangs behind him,
His eyes are burning with fire.
“Everyone betrays you,” Barda is heard, “
Song of songs, native country,
But my sword will not fully change you,
And my harp will be true! "
He fell in battle ... but the enemy that defeated him,
Was powerless over a proud soul;
The harp was silent: her defeated defeated,
He padal the strings he is all to one.
"You are courage, love to glorify, -
He said, so do not know the shackles.
Your song should only be freely free,
But there will be no between the slaves! "
Dedicated to the struggle of the Irish people for independence.
In the Ranks of Death You'll Find Him;
HIS FATHERS SWORD HE HAS GIRDED ON
And HIS Wild Harp Slung Behind Him.
Land of Song! Said The Warrior Bard,
Throw All the World Betrays Thee,
One Sword at Least Thy Rights Shall Guard,
One Faithful Harp Shall Praise Thee!
The Minstrel Fell! - But the Foeman's Chain
COULD Not Bring that Proud Soul Under;
The Harp He Loved Ne'er Spoke Again
For he tore is chords asunder;
And said no chains Shall Sully thee,
Thou Soul of Love and Brary!
Thy Songs Were Made for the Pure and Free,
They Shall Never Sound in Slavey.
He went to the battle, the son of a young singer,
Disgered by his father's sword;
His harp hangs behind him,
His eyes are burning with fire.
“Everyone betrays you,” Barda is heard, “
Song of songs, native country,
But my sword will not fully change you,
And my harp will be true! "
He fell in battle ... but the enemy that defeated him,
Was powerless over a proud soul;
The harp was silent: her defeated defeated,
He padal the strings he is all to one.
"You are courage, love to glorify, -
He said, so do not know the shackles.
Your song should only be freely free,
But there will be no between the slaves! "
Dedicated to the struggle of the Irish people for independence.
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