Songs of Old Canada/Malbrouck

 

MALBROUCK. Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre,⁠ ⁠Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre, Ne sait quand reviendra. II reviendra-z-à Pâques, Ou à la Trinité. La Trinité se passe, Malbrouck ne revient pas. Madame à sa tour monte, Si haut qu'ell' peut monter. Elle aperçoit son page Tout de noir habillé. Beau page, ah! mon beau page, Quell' nouvelle apportez? Aux nouvell's que j'apporte, Vos beaux yeux vont pleurer. Quittez vos habits roses, Et vos satins brochés. Monsieur Malbrouck est mort, Est mort et enterré. Je l'ai vu porter en terre. Par quatre-z-officiers. L'un portait sa cuirasse, L'autre son bouclier. L'un portait son grand sabre, L'autre ne portait rien. A l'entour de sa tombe, Romarins l'on planta. Sur la plus haute branche, Le rossignol chanta. On vit voler son âme, A travers des lauriers. Chacun mit ventre à terre, Et puis se releva. Pour chanter les victoires, Que Malbrouck remporta. La cérémoni' faite, Chacun s'en fut s'coucher. J'n'en dis pas davantage ⁠Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, J'n'en dis pas davantage Car en voilà z-assez.

MALBROUCK. Malbrouck has gone a-fighting,⁠ ⁠Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, Malbrouck has gone a-fighting But when will he return? Perchance he'll come at Easter Or else at Trinity Term. But Trinity Term is over And Malbrouck comes not yet. My Lady climbs her watch tower As high as she can get. She sees her page approaching All clad in sable hue: "Ah page, brave page, what tidings From my true lord bring you?" "The news I bring, fair Lady, Will make your tears run down; "Put off your rose-red dress so fine And doff your satin gown. "Monsieur Malbrouck is dead, alas! And buried too, for aye; "I saw four officers who bore His mighty corse away. "One bore his cuirass, and his friend His shield of iron wrought; "The third his mighty sabre bore, And the fourth—he carried nought. "And at the corners of his tomb They planted rose-marie; "And from their tops the nightingale Rings out her carol free. "We saw, above the laurels, His soul fly forth amain; "And each one fell upon his face And then rose up again. "And so we sang the glories For which great Malbrouck bled; "And when the whole was ended Each one went off to bed. "I say no more, my Lady, ⁠Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, I say no more, my Lady, As nought more can be said."