O Azure Mountain, O Pyrenees adored
Mountains Pyrenees you are my loves,
From La Rhune to Canigou you will always be sparkling,
Mountain in majesty to petrified sentinels,
Your ridges, pitons, needles similar to a raised army.
From the Anet to the Vignemale, passing by the breach of Roland,
Your peaks are sacred, refuge of the fairies close to the Val d'Aran.
Mont Calm, Peak of the Tempests, Aiguille d'Ansobère,
At your feet there is an eternal poem of stone.
Masters of lightning and storms,
Gods and demons reign without sharing,
Towards your treetops where time leads the dance,
Letting beauty and silence sing.
At the highest mountain, in the deepest valley,
In fairy-tale winter where the accumulated snow sparkles,
In glorious summer when the sun springs,
The Pyrenees enchant us like no other.
Gone are the days of the terraces defying hostile slopes,
Where the caress of the scythe sharpened like a saber,
Transformed the high pastures into a shallow and fertile lawn,
But for lack of care the rustic huts of stone are decaying.
Under the laughing eye of the iris with violet petals zebrad with gold,
Facing the steep cornice, the yellow-beaked shocks,
Wonderful flying flying, play the trompe-la-mort balancing actors,
By admiring from the sky the violet ramondie and the aconite in cone.
On the white lace of your ridges,
Proud and light the isard caracolent,
The aces of the cavalry, the acrobats of the cliffs fly,
The voltigeurs of the ravines always keep their heads high.
In its glacial circus of the perfect hemicycle of Gavarnie,
On the pleated steps of this opera of browned ice,
The waterfall plays its concert in vaporous plumes,
Before filling the island in a generous rumble.
In the mirrors of the sky, lacquer or estanet, blue, green, white,
The chimera of the cold waters, the desman,
With its mole's feet and its shrew muzzle,
Play trumpets of fame, as a ringworm.
Here the language which rolls the sentences in cascade,
With singing and rocky accent, the torrents facts.
From the patois of Ariège, to Basque and Catalan
From festivals to songs, regional hymns animate the parade.
Alanguies and sleepy in the midday sun,
The Pyrenees wavy and svelte in prayer,
From Basque canyons to the Pic du Midi glaciers,
Need more passion than reason.
In this illumination of colors and harmony,
When the sun sets fire to the crimson rocks,
Then is written a geological poem of unspeakable grace,
In a magical garden, inciting respect as a bible.
The contrast between the raw green of the pasture,
The whiteness of the vertical walls of another age,
And the deep blue of the southern sky,
Play the score of a symphony polychrome little banal.
Close to the nascent gaves, crystalline rivers,
The pirouette reddish balls of the marmots nod,
In rolled-up in the stones of cairns and scree,
Clowns show, the clouds applaud, the mountain smiles.
In the forest, the grapes bear the undergrowth,
Treats appreciated from the bear of the Pyrenees,
Plantigrade high in the pantheon of deities,
From Cinnamon to Balou, facing the sheep, sometimes they are outlawed.
Throughout history, past this pass or this pierrier,
No more fear, no more anguish, hope and freedom at the end,
In the shelter of the "orris", far from the raids and the tocsin,
Where there is a will, there is a way.
From Esclarlys the infidel bethmalaise,
At the heart exhibited by her fiance at the tip of her hoof,
To the blond girl spinning peacefully her knitting,
Assaulted by the wolves, that of legends in the country of Pirene.
L’ARIÉ…JOIE