"Os Pinos" ("The Pines") is the regional anthem of Galicia, an autonomous community in northwestern Spain on the border with Portugal. It was officially adopted in 1977. 70 years earlier, the music was composed in Havana, Cuba by Pascual Veiga, where it was also performed. The lyrics, based on a poem first recorded in the late [l19th century, were written by Eduardo Pondal.[1][2][3][4]
Lyrics[]
Regional Anthem of Galicia (Spain) - "Os Pinos"
Galician
Spanish
English
Que din os rumorosos
na costa verdecente,
ó raio transparente
do prácido luar?
Que din as altas copas
de escuro arume harpado
co seu ben compasado
monótono fungar?
Do teu verdor cinguido
e de benignos astros,
confín dos verdes castros
e valeroso chan,
non deas a esquecemento
da inxuria o rudo encono;
desperta do teu sono
fogar de Breogán.
Os bos e xenerosos
a nosa voz entenden,
e con arroubo atenden
o noso rouco son,
mais só os iñorantes,
e féridos e duros,
imbéciles e escuros
non nos entenden, non.
Os tempos son chegados
dos bardos das idades
que as vosas vaguidades
cumprido fin terán;
pois onde quer, xigante
a nosa voz pregoa
a redenzón da boa
nazón de Breogán.[4]
¿Qué dicen los rumorosos,
en la costa enverdecida
al transparente rayo
de la plácida luz de luna?
¿Qué dicen las altas copas
de oscuro follaje arpado
con su bien acompasado
monótono zumbar?
De tu verdor ceñido
y de benignos astros,
confín de los verdes castros
y del valeroso suelo,
no des al olvido
de la injuria el rudo enconamiento;
despierta de tu sueño
Hogar de Breogán.
Los buenos y generosos,
nuestra voz entienden
y con devoción atienden
nuestro ronco sonido,
pero solo los ignorantes
y los salvajes y los duros,
imbéciles y oscuros,
no nos entienden, no.
Ya llegaron los tiempos
de los bardos de las edades
en que vuestras vaguedades
cumplido fin tendrán;
pues, por doquier, gigante
nuestra voz pregona
la redención de la buena
Nación de Breogán.[4]
What do the murmurers say
o’ the lush coast
under the clear shaft
of the serene moonlight?
What do the soarin’ treetops
of dark bent pine twigs say
in their musical
monotonous hum?
Girded by Thy greenness,
and by benign stars,
bound of the green hill forts
and O worthy land,
Let not thyself into oblivion
the harsh rancour of scorn;
awaken from Thy slumbers,
O hearth of Breoghan.
The good and generous
understand our voices,
and eagerly they hearken
to our coarse sounds;
But only the ignorant,
barbaric and acerbic,
those foolish and benight’d
understand us not.
The times are now upon us
sung by the ancient bards,
when all Thy wanderings
shall promptly meet their cease;
For ev’rywhere, gigantic,
our voice proclaimeth aloud
The redemption of the good
nation of Breoghan.
