| prosody | miscellaneous |
Emperaire, per mi mezeis, Sai quant vostra proeza creis, No·m sui jes tarzatz del venir, Que Jois vos pais e Pretz vos creis, E Jovens vos ten baud e freis Que fai vostra valor doucir. Pois lo fills de Dieu vos somo Que·l vengetz del ling Farao, Ben vos en devetz esbaudir! Contra·ls portz faillon li baro, Li plus de conduich e de do, E ja Dieus no·ls en lais jauzir Mais en cels de lai es remas Ad ops d'Espaigna e del vas, En devetz ben l'afan soffrir, E·ls Sarrazis tornar atras, E de l'aut orguoill forvenir, E Dieus er ab vos al fenir. Als Amoravis fai conort Per las poestatz d'outra·l port Qu'ant pres una tel' ad ordir De drap d'enveia e de tort, E ditz cadaus qu'a sa mort S' fara de sa part desvestir. Mas de lai n'ant blasme li ric C'amon lo sojorn e l'abric Mol jazer e soau dormir. E nos sai, segon lo prezic, Conquerrem de Dieu per afic L'onor e l'aver e·l merir. Trop s'en van entr'els cobeitan Aicill que vergoigna non an, E·s cuion ab l'aver cobrir! Et ieu dic lor, segon semblan, Que·l cap derrier e·ls pes denan Los coven dels palaitz issir. Per pauc Marcabrus non trasaill De Joven, can per aver faill, E cel qui plus l'am' acuillir, Quan venra al derrier badaill, En mil marcs non dari' un aill, Si li fara la mortz pudir. Ab la valor de Portegual E del rei Navar atretal Ab sol que Barsalona·s vir Ves Toleta l'emperial, Segur poirem cridar : reial E paiana gen desconfir. Si non fosson tant gran li riu Als Amoravis for' esquiu! E pogram lor o ben plevir, E s'atendon lo recaliu E de Castella·l seignoriu, Cordoa·il farem magrezir. Mas Franssa Peitau e Beiriu Aclina un sol seignoriu, Venga sai Dieu son fieu servir Qu'ieu non sai per que princes viu S'a Dieu no vai son fieu servir. |
Emperor, I know, me, how your prowess increases: I certainly did not delay my arrival, since Joy feeds you and Virtue makes you grow, while Youth keeps you healthy and proud because it increases your valour. Since the son of god summons you to avenge him on the Pharaoh's line, you must be delighted. Come to port, the barons falter, those with the best entourages and gifts. May God keep them from enjoying them! But, since those from there hesitate to rescue Spain and Sepulchre, you need to bear the all the brunt, and drive the Saracens away and crush their haughty pride. In the end, god'll be with you. It encourages the Almoravids, the attitude of those beyond the sea, because they have begun to weave a fabric that will drape with envy and wrong, and each says that they'll strip him of his share only at his death. But, there, it's the rich who take the blame, they love fun and safety, soft beds and sweet sleep. And we, here, obeying the preaching, will conquer, by god's judgement, honour, riches and glory. They mingle their lusts too much, those who have no shame, and think their fortune insures them. And I tell them, as it seems to me, that it is with their head before their feet that they'll have to leave their palaces. Marcabru is almost beside himself because of Youth, when wealth makes it fail. And he who loves the most to amass it, when he is at his last breath, wouldn't give a garlic for his thousand marks, so much death will make them stink[?]. With the valour of Portugal, and with the king of Navarre too, provided that Barcelona turns towards the imperial Toledo, surely we could cry: "Royal!" and vanquish the pagan people. If the rivers weren't so swollen, it'd be a bad time for the Almoravids and we could well assure them that, if they are waiting for the return of the warmth and the coming of the Lord of Castile, we will relieve them of the weight of Cordoba. But France, Poitou and Berry are subject to a single lord: let him come here and pay his fief to god. For I don't know why a prince should live if he doesn't go pay his fief to god. |