If you’re sleeping, my dear,
Wake and open to me!
For the hour is at hand
When afar we must flee.
If your white feet are bare
Still no longer delay;
For deep are the waters
Which roll in our way.
The waters so deep
Of the Guadalquivír;
The hour is at hand,
We must wander, my dear.[7]
’Tis strange, he added, how our land, in truth,
As it goes Southward seems to turn to youth,
And with a softer sun all words are sung—
As things are warmed—into the Spanish tongue:
I’ve given you a song, let’s have another;
“Well, I know one,” I said, “which seems its brother,
Although, compared to yours, it’s nearer zero,
In Spanish, _Digas tu el marinero!_”
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[7]
Si dormis, donçella,
Despertad y abrid,
Que venida es la hora,
Si quereis partir.
Si descalza estais
No querais calzar,
Que muchas las aquas
Teneis de pasar—
Las aguas tan hondas
De Guadalquivír;
Que venida es la hora
Si teneis partir.