Translation of the song Sa Morte ’e s’Ilighe artist Marisa Sannia

Proite m’ind’as bettadu? e no ischias

Why did you cut me down? don’t you know

Chi m’an sos antigos tuos piantadu?

that I was planted by your ancestors?

O forsis s’umbra male t’apo dadu,

Or perhaps I didn't shade you well,

Cando a s’istadiale t’ind’enias?

when you came to me in the summer?

Dae una lande, 'attida intro s’iscaltzu

From an acorn, carried into his crop

De unu columbu areste innoghe mortu,

by a wild pigeon, that died here,

Piantadu m’aìan in mes’e ortu.

they planted me in the midst of the garden.

Curriat tando su mese ’e frealzu.

At the time it was the month of February.

Ma maju 'enzeit carrigu de ardores,

But then May came, loaded with warmth,

De varias ervas a sa terra;

with various herbs on the ground;

E a ponner sas cortes in sa serra

and all the shepherds returned

Nde fin torrados totus sos pastores.

to set their folds on the mountains.

E deo puru, pro 'ider cussa festa

And I too, so I could see that festival

De fiores, de montes e piantas,

of flowers, mountains and plants,

Ponzei sas fozas mias totu cantas

I jutted out all my many leaves

E a su sole pesei sa testa

and to the sun I raised my head,

Tènnera e bella. No aìa un’annu

gentle and beautiful. I was still old

Chi pius de un homine fi’altu;

less than one year and was taller than a man;

Poi ramos deretos ap’ispaltu

then I spread my straight branches

E mi fattei superbu, forte e mannu.

and grew up superb, sturdy and big.

E fentomadu ‘enzei in donzi banda

And I became renowned everywhere

Pro s’abundantzia e pro ramos nodiu;

for my abundance, and famed for my branches;

Umbras serenas daìa a s’istiu

I gave serene shadows to the summer

E in s’ierru giompiat sa lande.

and in winter the acorns came.

E nd’apo 'idu de nottes e de dies

And I saw a lot of nights and days,

Malas e bonas; soles e turmentos

both good and bad; suns and flutter

De temporadas. Mai a sos bentos

of storms. I never surrendered

Zedei, ne a carrigos de nies.

to the winds, nor to loads of snow.

Deretu fia, che i’su destinu

I was upright, as the good fate

Bonu de custa domo e de cust’ortu;

of this home and of this garden.

E tue, ingratu, m’as mortu!

And you, ingrate, you have killed me!