Comes the parade now with one accord,
Marching comes the army and the clear, bright bugling begins.
Fearsome is the glittering of each reflected sword,
With gold and steel amassing the moving paladins.
Now under arches they are passing white Minerva and her Mars,
With fame and all her triumphs their lengthy trumpets raise,
Ovations in the standards that in solemn glory pass
Carried by the athletes with heroic hands of praise.
Cavalry as well their furious weapons sound
They champ upon the bridle these horses of the war,
Cacophony of hooves is the sounding of the law.
In kettledrum and ground
The rhythmic marching of the feet.
Under arches they are crowned
Their fierce triumphs are complete.
At once the sound of bugles is now magnified,
The chorus strong,
Sonorous the song,
Enveloped are the standards in the thunderous golden throng
Speaking of a people in their august national pride,
Resonant of battle, inexorable advance.
The lion's mane,
Harsh plumes and pike and lance,
Fierce bloods that drenching stain
The earth for
The dark dogs that reign:
Death and glory govern war.
The aureate sounds
The advent witnessing
Of glory claimed and won.
Magnificent, they leave their lofty mountain grounds
Gliding on the winds with unfurled darkening wings,
Arriving with the victory, the golden condors come.
Now passes the parade.
Pride in the grandfather as to the child
Are heroes' beards displayed
The once full golden curls now edged with ermine white.
The beautiful of women make their wreaths of flowers,
Under porticos their faces full blossom as a rose,
And the most beautiful of those
Turn in their warmest smiles to the fiercest warriors.
Honour to him carrying the captured standard through the air,
Honour to the injured and to the loyal,
To those fallen by a foreign hand, and still so lying there,
Bugles and laurel.
Nobility of sword that former glory wears,
Panoplies of praise new wreaths and crowns incur,
The swords of the grenadiers, old but strong as bears,
The brothers of those lancers that one time centaurs were.
With shouts the air around
The warlike trumpets sound.
The swords of other days,
Their steel hard-forged by hand.
The resounding glory stays,
The sun on these new victories plays,
The hero at the head of his own fiery band
And for all that leave their homeward fold.
The one who has defied, as to his armour wed,
The summer suns of red.
The wind and freezing cold,
The night and frost,
The hatred and death that for his country's sake
All saluted with bronze voices in the triumphal trumpet march they make.
Rubén Darío (1867 - 1916) Nicaragua
Translated by C. John Holcombe
Source: Textetc
Marching comes the army and the clear, bright bugling begins.
Fearsome is the glittering of each reflected sword,
With gold and steel amassing the moving paladins.
Now under arches they are passing white Minerva and her Mars,
With fame and all her triumphs their lengthy trumpets raise,
Ovations in the standards that in solemn glory pass
Carried by the athletes with heroic hands of praise.
Cavalry as well their furious weapons sound
They champ upon the bridle these horses of the war,
Cacophony of hooves is the sounding of the law.
In kettledrum and ground
The rhythmic marching of the feet.
Under arches they are crowned
Their fierce triumphs are complete.
At once the sound of bugles is now magnified,
The chorus strong,
Sonorous the song,
Enveloped are the standards in the thunderous golden throng
Speaking of a people in their august national pride,
Resonant of battle, inexorable advance.
The lion's mane,
Harsh plumes and pike and lance,
Fierce bloods that drenching stain
The earth for
The dark dogs that reign:
Death and glory govern war.
The aureate sounds
The advent witnessing
Of glory claimed and won.
Magnificent, they leave their lofty mountain grounds
Gliding on the winds with unfurled darkening wings,
Arriving with the victory, the golden condors come.
Now passes the parade.
Pride in the grandfather as to the child
Are heroes' beards displayed
The once full golden curls now edged with ermine white.
The beautiful of women make their wreaths of flowers,
Under porticos their faces full blossom as a rose,
And the most beautiful of those
Turn in their warmest smiles to the fiercest warriors.
Honour to him carrying the captured standard through the air,
Honour to the injured and to the loyal,
To those fallen by a foreign hand, and still so lying there,
Bugles and laurel.
Nobility of sword that former glory wears,
Panoplies of praise new wreaths and crowns incur,
The swords of the grenadiers, old but strong as bears,
The brothers of those lancers that one time centaurs were.
With shouts the air around
The warlike trumpets sound.
The swords of other days,
Their steel hard-forged by hand.
The resounding glory stays,
The sun on these new victories plays,
The hero at the head of his own fiery band
And for all that leave their homeward fold.
The one who has defied, as to his armour wed,
The summer suns of red.
The wind and freezing cold,
The night and frost,
The hatred and death that for his country's sake
All saluted with bronze voices in the triumphal trumpet march they make.
Rubén Darío (1867 - 1916) Nicaragua
Translated by C. John Holcombe
Source: Textetc
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