El Flautista
Como el polen que arrastra el viento,
Afinándose su instrumento,
De maravilloso carácter, de ropas poco elegante,
De mirada penetrante y melodías interesantes.
Es de hamelin,
Es el flautista que inhalando su amistad,
Toca las palmas y a bailar, todos se dejan llevar,
Sigue su compás, no se reveles a su toque medieval,
De lo contrario chiflara aunque no quiera bailar.
El flautista llego... por el horizonte,
Dibujando su figura, al sol de poniente,
Solo os pedirá un poco de amistad,
Y a cambio limpiara de ratas tu ciudad.
Es de hamelin,
Es el flautista que inhalando su amistad,
Toca las palmas y a bailar, todos se dejan llevar,
Sigue su compás, no se reveles a su toque medieval,
De lo contrario chiflara aunque no quiera bailar.
El flautista llego... por el horizonte,
Dibujando su figura, al sol de poniente,
Solo os pedirá un poco de amistad,
Y a cambio limpiara de ratas tu ciudad.
Cruzaremos los ríos, lagos y montañas,
Y halláremos un valle sin humos y sin ratas,
El es el flautista de los cuentos de tu infancia,
Matador de dragones gigantes y conquistador de damas.
Es de hamelin,
Es el flautista que inhalando su amistad,
Toca las palmas y a bailar, todos se dejan llevar,
Sigue su compás, no se reveles a su toque medieval,
De lo contrario chiflara aunque no quiera bailar.
Tibicem pos hominum memoriam errat
Reliquens suum vistigium
Cum modulatio suae tibiae a eternan est.
Ut ignis aurum probat,
Sic miseria probat virtutem.
The Flutist
Like the pollen carried by the wind,
Tuning his instrument,
Of marvelous character, in not very elegant clothes,
With a penetrating gaze and interesting melodies.
He's from Hamelin,
He's the flutist who, inhaling his friendship,
Claps his hands and everyone starts dancing,
Following his rhythm, don't resist his medieval touch,
Otherwise, he'll whistle even if you don't want to dance.
The flutist has arrived... on the horizon,
Drawing his figure in the setting sun,
He'll only ask for a bit of friendship,
And in return, he'll rid your city of rats.
He's from Hamelin,
He's the flutist who, inhaling his friendship,
Claps his hands and everyone starts dancing,
Following his rhythm, don't resist his medieval touch,
Otherwise, he'll whistle even if you don't want to dance.
The flutist has arrived... on the horizon,
Drawing his figure in the setting sun,
He'll only ask for a bit of friendship,
And in return, he'll rid your city of rats.
We'll cross rivers, lakes, and mountains,
And find a valley without smoke and rats,
He's the flutist from the tales of your childhood,
Slayer of giant dragons and conqueror of ladies.
He's from Hamelin,
He's the flutist who, inhaling his friendship,
Claps his hands and everyone starts dancing,
Following his rhythm, don't resist his medieval touch,
Otherwise, he'll whistle even if you don't want to dance.
The flute will wander in human memory,
Leaving its mark behind,
With the melody of his flute eternal.
Just as fire tests gold,
So does misery test virtue.