O what is that sound which so thrills the ear
Down in the valley drumming, drumming?
Only the scarlet soldiers, dear,
The soldiers coming.
O what is that light I see flashing so clear
Over the distance brightly, brightly?
Only the sun on their weapons, dear,
As they step lightly.
O what are they doing with all that gear,
What are they doing this morning, this morning?
Only their usual manoeuvres, dear,
Or perhaps a warning.
O why have they left the road down there,
Why are they suddenly wheeling, wheeling?
Perhaps a change in their orders, dear,
Why are you kneeling?
O haven’t they stopped for the doctor’s care,
Haven’t they reined their horses, horses?
Why, they are none of them wounded, dear,
None of these forces.
O is it the parson they want, with white hair,
Is it the parson, is it, is it?
No, they are passing his gateway, dear,
Without a visit.
O it must be the farmer who lives so near.
It must be the farmer so cunning, so cunning?
They have passed the farmyard already, dear,
And now they are running.
O where are you going? Stay with me here!
Were the vows you swore deceiving, deceiving?
No, I promised to love you, dear,
But I must be leaving.
O it’s broken the lock and splintered the door,
O it’s the gate where they’re turning, turning;
Their boots are heavy on the floor
And their eyes are burning.
Down in the valley drumming, drumming?
Only the scarlet soldiers, dear,
The soldiers coming.
O what is that light I see flashing so clear
Over the distance brightly, brightly?
Only the sun on their weapons, dear,
As they step lightly.
O what are they doing with all that gear,
What are they doing this morning, this morning?
Only their usual manoeuvres, dear,
Or perhaps a warning.
O why have they left the road down there,
Why are they suddenly wheeling, wheeling?
Perhaps a change in their orders, dear,
Why are you kneeling?
O haven’t they stopped for the doctor’s care,
Haven’t they reined their horses, horses?
Why, they are none of them wounded, dear,
None of these forces.
O is it the parson they want, with white hair,
Is it the parson, is it, is it?
No, they are passing his gateway, dear,
Without a visit.
O it must be the farmer who lives so near.
It must be the farmer so cunning, so cunning?
They have passed the farmyard already, dear,
And now they are running.
O where are you going? Stay with me here!
Were the vows you swore deceiving, deceiving?
No, I promised to love you, dear,
But I must be leaving.
O it’s broken the lock and splintered the door,
O it’s the gate where they’re turning, turning;
Their boots are heavy on the floor
And their eyes are burning.
envoyé par Bartleby - 26/10/2011 - 13:59
×
![]()
Nella raccolta pubblicata in Gran Bretagna nel 1936 con il titolo “Look, Stranger!” e negli USA l’anno seguente come “On This Island”.
Una poesia del grande autore britannico, naturalizzato statunitense, messa in musica da diversi compositori, come Randall B. Kreuger, Daron Aric Hagen, William Douglas Bennett e Jack Hamilton Beeson (The Lied, Art Song, and Choral Texts Archive)
Una poesia che racconta in una progressione agghiacciante, con lo stile di una ballata settecentesca, le fasi di un rastrellamento ad opera di un gruppo di soldati. Si tratta probabilmente della descrizione della persecuzione di ribelli giacobiti nel 18mo secolo ma l’assenza totale di dettagli che la possano situare storicamente con precisione (a parte l’espressione “scarlet sodier”, ad indicare il colore dominante della divisa indossata dai soldati britannici – i Redcoats – tra il 17mo ed il 20mo secolo, dato di per sé troppo vago) fanno di questa composizione un grido contro la repressione ed il totalitarismo di ogni epoca.