The Ballad of the French King's Musicians
Frans Gunnar Bengtsson
Published in 1923, free translation
We have come from Burgundy and bright Guienne,
from Brabant and from the fields of Normandy
We have never ever seen those lands again
Since we joined the royal drummers' company
Where the Alps rose to the heavens, we heard "Come,
with King Charles and with his banners toward Rome!"
And the winds of the blue sky
Kept our standards rising high
'Til the lilies brought all Tuscany to bloom.
Oh, the women of the grain and linen fields
dropped their harvest-loads and gazed at us in trance
as we raised our trumpets high against the walls
"Men of Florence! Make way for the King of France!"
The doncellas of the squares gave out their blood
for our courage and our manhood, it would flood
when we swore that to the south
marching to the Tiber's mouth
not a virgin would be left, if God was good.
We have marches high and music for the balls,
litanies of dream and songs of Charlemagne.
We have played the clavichord and virginal
to an Aube and to the ballads of Bretagne.
We have rhymes of Blanchefleur and of Floris
and refrains of the Sieur de la Palice.
And as the Pope his blessings gave
for the courtesans' conclave,
we sang the Ballade des Dames du Temps-Jadis.
Ghibellins and Guelphs and Spaniards and the Pope,
we have followed all these men to Hell and back.
We have served the lords as long as they could cope,
'til they left this land in carriages of black.
Year by year, we change our costumes bright and fair
Of the fortunes of our masters, all that's there
the worn coats from some fete
black for Sforza, green for Este
and for Borgia, red as the Papal daughter's hair.
Do they still remember us in bright Guienne?
Does the spring still light the fields of Normandy?
We have never ever seen those lands again
as we march on Rome in Frundsberg's company.
Between Espérance and saddle
with Orange and Connétable de Bourbon.
What along the march we saw
that inspired fear or awe
we have transubstantiated to a song.