The lads in their hundreds

Compositor: 
Idioma: 
Text original: 

The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair,
There’s men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold,
The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there,
And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old.

There’s chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart,
And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave,
And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart,
And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave.

I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell
The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern;
And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell
And watch them depart on the way that they will not return.

But now you may stare as you like and there’s nothing to scan;
And brushing your elbow unguessed-at and not to be told
They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,
The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.

Traducció: 
Tipus de traducció: 
Literal
Autor: 
Silvia Pujalte

Centenars de nois arriben a Ludlow per la fira,
hi ha homes del graner, de la forja, del molí i de la cleda.
Els nois són aquí per les noies i el licor,
i aquí amb la resta hi ha els nois que mai no seran vells.

Hi ha homes de la ciutat, del camp, dels conreus i dels carros,
n'hi ha molts de lleials i molts de valents,
i molts de rostre bell i molts de bell cor,
i pocs que s'enduran la seva aparença o la seva veritat a la tomba.

Tant de bo poguéssim conèixer-los, tant de bo hi haguessin coses a dir
dels homes afortunats que ara no pots distingir;
i després podríem parlar amb ells amistosament i dir-los adéu,
i veure'ls marxar pel camí d'on no tornaran.

Però pots mirar tant com vulguis, no hi ha res per veure,
i fregant el teu colze, sense adonar-se'n ni dir res,
tornaran al seu encunyador, brillant, la moneda de l'home,
els nois que moriran en el moment de glòria i que mai no seran vells.