1. Tolteca icuilihuia ahaa ya ha on tlantoc amoxtli ya moyollo ya on
aya mochonaciticac o o Toltecayootl aic aya ninemiz ye nican ay yo.
1. The Toltecs have been taken, alas, the book of their souls has
come to an end, alas, everything of the Toltecs has reached its
conclusion, no longer do I care to live here.
2. Ac ya nechcuiliz, ac ye nohuan oyaz o, nicaz a anni icuihuan aya y
yancuicanitl y yehetl y noxochiuh non cuica ihuitequi onteixpan ayyo.
2. Who will take me? Who will go with me? I am ready to be taken,
alas. All that was fresh, the perfume, my flowers, my songs, have
gone along with them.
3. Huey in tetl nictequintomahuac quahuitl, nicicuiloa yancuicatl
itech aya oncan nomitoz in quemmanian in can niyaz nocuica machio
nicyacauhtiaz in tlalticpac, y onnemiz noyol zan ca ye nican ya
hualla y yancoya nolnamicoca nemiz ye noteyo ay yo.
3. Great is my affliction, weighty is my burden; I write out a new
song concerning it, that some time I may speak it there where I shall
go, a song to be known when I shall leave the earth, that my soul
shall live after I have gone from here, that my fame shall live fresh
in memory.
4. Nichocaya niquittoaya nicnotza noyollo ma niquitta cuicanelhuayotl
ayama nicyatlalaquiya ma ya ica tlalticpac quimman mochihua onnenemiz
noyol y. Zan ca teucxochitl ahuiaca ipotocaticac mocepanoayan
toxochiuh ay ye ayao ohuiy on can quiya itzmolini ye nocuic celia
notlatollaquillo ohua in toxochiuh icac iquiapani ayao.
4. I cried aloud, I looked about, I reflected how I might see the
root of song, that I might plant it here on the earth, and that then
it should make my soul to live. The sweet exhalations of the lovely
flowers rose up uniting with our flowers; one hears them growing as
my song buds forth, filled with my words our flowers stand upright in
the waters.
5. Tel ca cahua xochitl ahuiac xeliuhtihuitz a ipotocaya in ahuiyac
poyomatlin pixahua oncan ninenenemi nicuicanitl y ye aya o ohui y on
ca quiya itzmolinï ye nocuic celia, etc.
5. But the flowers depart, their sweetness is divided and exhales,
the fragrant poyomatl rains down its leaves where I the poet walk in
sadness; one hears them growing, etc.