Canço de Na Ruixa Mantells
Passant gemegosa com fa la gavina
que volta riberes i torna a voltar,
anava la boja del Camp de Marina
vorera de mar.
Descalça i coberta de roba esquinçada,
corria salvatge, botant pels esculls;
i encara era bella sa testa colrada,
la flor de sos ulls.
Color de mar fonda tenia les nines,
corones se feia de lliris de mar,
i arreu enfilava cornets i petxines
per fer-se'n collar.
Així tota sola, ran ran de les ones,
ja en temps de bonança, ja en temps de maror,
anava la trista cantant per estones
l'estranya cançó.
"La mar jo avorria mes ja l'estim ara
des que hi té l'estatge l'amor que em fugí.
No tinc en la terra ni pare ni mare,
més ell és aquí!
"La mar el volia, jamai assaciada
de vides, fortunes, tresors i vaixells;
i d'ell va fer presa dins forta ventada
Na Ruixa-mantells.
(...)
Així tota sola, ran ran de les ones,
ja en temps de bonança, ja en temps de maror,
anava la trista cantant per estones
l'estranya cançó.
Un vespre d'oratge finí son desvari:
son cos a una cala sortí l'endemà;
i en platja arenosa, redòs solitari,
qualcú l'enterrà.
No té ja sa tomba la creu d'olivera,
mes lliris de platja bé en té cada estiu,
i sols ja hi senyala sa petja lleugera
l'aucell fugitiu...
Song of the Seagull Mantle
Moaning as the seagull does
that returns to the shores and comes back,
the crazy one from Camp de Marina
by the seaside.
Barefoot and covered in tattered clothes,
she ran wild, jumping over the rocks;
and her colored head was still beautiful,
the flower of her eyes.
Deep sea color had the dolls,
making crowns of sea lilies,
and everywhere she collected shells and seashells
to make a necklace.
So all alone, the sound of the waves,
in times of calm, in times of sorrow,
the sad one went singing at times
the strange song.
"I used to hate the sea but now I love it
since love that left me has a place there.
I have no father or mother on earth,
but he is here!
The sea wanted him, never satisfied
with lives, fortunes, treasures, and ships;
and she made him prey in a strong gale
Seagull-mantle.
(...)
So all alone, the sound of the waves,
in times of calm, in times of sorrow,
the sad one went singing at times
the strange song.
One stormy evening her delirium ended:
her body washed up on a cove the next day;
and on the sandy beach, a lonely mound,
someone buried her.
Her grave no longer has an olive tree cross,
but beach lilies she has every summer,
and only her light footprint is marked
by the fleeing bird...