SONG OF THE CUP.[21]
Men of Provence, this Cup has come to us
Pledge of our Catalonian brothers’ troth,
Then let us each in turn drain from it thus
The pure wine of our native vineyard’s growth.
O sacred cup
Filled brimming up!
Pour out to overflowing
Enthusiasms glowing,
The energy pour out that doth belong
Of right unto the strong.
Of an ancestral people proud and free
Perchance we are the end, we faithful few:
And should the “Félibres” fall, it well may be
The end and downfall of our nation too.
O sacred cup, &c.
Yet, in a race that germinates again
We are perchance the first-fruits of our earth,
We are perchance the pillars that maintain,
The knights that lead, the country of our birth.
Pour out for us the golden hopes once more,
The visions that our youth was wont to see,
And, with remembrance of the days of yore,
Faith in the days that are about to be.
O sacred cup, &c.
Pour for us, mingled with thy generous wine,
Knowledge of Truth and Beauty, both in one,
And lofty joys and ravishments divine
That laugh at Death and bid its fears begone.