Текст песни Тикки Шельен - Доминиканская кантата. Плач по катарам

Why, the land of Toulouse, the most blessed land,
Will you give birth to thistles and feed the thorns?
Why is neither the vineyard nor the grain sweet to you -
All thorny grass has filled!
And they cut the thorns and plunge into the flames of hell,
What to regret about him? Yes, he needs it.

Perfects walked through the crowd of idle onlookers without fear
And they carried the name of Christ to the place of execution.
Your black robes turned to gray ash
And they rush with the wind over the country.
And on the ruinous fireplace, where the earth shook with a cry,
People saw the monk Dominic,
How, with his arms outstretched in a cross, he stood, old from grief,
On the charred ground where the Cathars were burned.

On his face, blind, distorted by evil anguish,
Tears roll down the burned ones.
Weeping for the word that was killed, weeping for the cornfield that was burnt,
Lament for the fury of Montfort sultry white.
With burnt hands scooping up ash and dust,
Crying for those who were crying in mortal agony.

And in the crystal blue sky, the Ever-Virgin Most Holy
She also cried, embracing the Baby.