Lyrics Joe Strummer and The Mescaleros - Minstrel Boy
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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 Father 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 chals sully thee
Thou Soul Of Love and Bravery!
Thy Songs Were Made for The Pure and FREE
THEY SHALL NEVER SOUND IN SLAVERY.
He went to the battle, the son of the singer,
Okoyoisan father's sword;
His harp hangs behind him
His eyes flashed fire.
"All betray you, - the bard is heard, -
Country of songs, native country,
But you will not change my sword to the end,
And mine will be the harp right! "
He fell in the battle ... But the enemy that he won,
Was powerless over a proud soul;
Harp slices: her defeated broken,
P'orval strings he is all up to one.
"You are courage, love to glorify, -
He, he, - So do not know the same shackles.
Your song can only be free.
But it will not sound between the slaves! "
Deals against the struggle of the Irish people for independence.
In The Ranks of Death You'll Find Him;
His Father 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 chals sully thee
Thou Soul Of Love and Bravery!
Thy Songs Were Made for The Pure and FREE
THEY SHALL NEVER SOUND IN SLAVERY.
He went to the battle, the son of the singer,
Okoyoisan father's sword;
His harp hangs behind him
His eyes flashed fire.
"All betray you, - the bard is heard, -
Country of songs, native country,
But you will not change my sword to the end,
And mine will be the harp right! "
He fell in the battle ... But the enemy that he won,
Was powerless over a proud soul;
Harp slices: her defeated broken,
P'orval strings he is all up to one.
"You are courage, love to glorify, -
He, he, - So do not know the same shackles.
Your song can only be free.
But it will not sound between the slaves! "
Deals against the struggle of the Irish people for independence.