Romanian Christmas Carols translated by Julia Kalman
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The Enchanting Carol of the Plough
This captivating folk carol was once collected by the esteemed poet, Vasile Alecsandri. It is a Christmas and New Year Carol.
History
Let’s journey back in time to the grand festivities of the Romans, where the New Year’s Calends held a special place in everyone’s hearts.
It was a time of joyous greetings and generous gifts, where tradition demanded songs to ring out from every household.
And from this vibrant custom, our very own New Year and Christmas greeting — the carol known as “The Little Plough” (“Plugușorul”) — was born.
Imagine the carolers, rosy-cheeked from the winter chill, moving from one house to another, their voices carrying the melody of “The Little Plough.” They stop before windows, dusted with frost, and begin their greeting.
The Bull
The sound of their voices intertwines with the jingling of bells, the metallic clang of plow irons, and a peculiar instrument named “bull.”
Now, picture the “bull,” a simple yet fascinating device.
It’s a leather sieve, drawn tight with a thick strand of horsehair.
As the thread is skillfully pulled through the leather, it produces a sound so deep and resonant that it transports you to a distant field where a bull bellows.
This enchanting blend of sounds weaves an unforgettable auditory tapestry, making the carol of “The Little Plough,” a timeless celebration of Christmas and New Year.
Chorus:
Hey, hey, lively children dear,
Pause a while and lend an ear,
Join the bulls grazing near,
Listen to my words so clear:
In the early morn,
Troian did arise,
Mounted his steed with skilled eyes,
A horse named Raven, dark as night,
With golden saddle shining bright,
A bridle made of silk so fine,
As thick as grapevine.
He climbed the steps with swift grace,
Gazed across the open space,
To choose a spot with care and taste,
For plowing and sowing, laid to waste.
Chorus:
And soon he started his work,
The field he plowed, smooth as a brook,
In straight lines and curves so neat,
With a plow that danced to a rhythmic beat.
On a Thursday, he commenced,
With a plow pulled by beasts, immense,
Bulls strong with tails aflow,
Leading the charge: “Hey, hey, let’s go!”
Chorus:
Throughout the day, he toiled away,
Flipping the soil, turning it gray,
Sowing grains both small and grand,
May the Lord’s blessing make them stand.
On the moon, on the week’s end,
He filled his hand with water to attend,
To the seeds, he hoped to sprout,
Grains of wheat and barley stout.
As the sprouts emerged from the earth,
They resembled sparrows in their mirth,
Golden stalks, a sight so divine,
As reeds in a marsh, they did shine.
Chorus:
Troian swiftly returned,
Summoned a horse, wild and unburned,
Dark as a raven, fast as fire,
Restless, never tiring,
With silver-shod hooves, a gleam,
Swift and nimble, a racer’s dream.
Mounting the steed, full of cheer,
He rode to Teghina, the vision clear,
Bought steel for scythes both large and small,
For skilled reapers and children small,
And others even finer,
Adorned with a bouquet so dainty,
For young maidens, ever saintly.
Chorus:
He gathered the neighbors near,
All the kinsmen, far and near,
And three old ladies, wise and keen,
Who knew the ways of the dough so clean.
He led them to the field,
Assigned each a role to wield,
Working the land with a gentle breeze,
Guiding them under the trees.
“Hey, hey, children, let’s begin,
With left and right, let the scythes spin!”
Chorus:
They grasped with the left and slashed with the right,
Cutting through fields like a dance in the night,
Others followed, binding sheaves,
Assembling bundles, higher than eaves.
Collecting the harvest, straw and wheat,
Loading them onto carts, neat and fleet.
To the mill, they carried the load,
As the wheels of labor fervently flowed,
“Hey, hey, children, let’s go, let’s go!”
Chorus:
At the mill, the grinding commenced,
The miller’s wife joined in, not pretensed.
She sifted and kneaded with hands so fair,
Unleashing the fragrance in the air.
Then she fashioned and spun the dough,
Crafting loaves to rise and grow,
Into the oven, they flew like a dove,
Baked to perfection, the labor of love.
She distributed it all around,
To the youth and children she crowned,
And to her proud husband, a kiss so sweet,
“Hey, hey, children, let’s meet, let’s meet!”
Chorus:
As Providence bestowed this year,
Upon Troian’s fields, so clear,
May the same favor come your way,
May your home and table ever sway.
May your home be warm and bright,
With tables adorned, a welcoming sight,
Houses cared for, with faces glowing,
With good guests, ever flowing.
May the coming year be kind,
May you blossom and unwind,
Like apple trees so fair,
In the midst of summer air,
“Hey, hey, children, be merry and gay!”
Closing:
We’d wish more, but it seems,
That night will fall upon our dreams,
Far from your homes, our abode,
Where small huts line the road.
Your yards are tall and bright,
Whitewashed, roofed just right,
With windows framed in glass,
Unlike ours, with thatch and grass.
As much straw as we have,
May wealth flow to your grave.
We’d wish more, but it appears,
That nightfall is drawing near.
And on our journey, we must go,
Through a dark, treacherous vale below,
Where wild girls await, full of jest,
Throwing almonds in jest,
Entangling young men they meet,
Like bees drawn to flowers sweet,
Stirring up a ruckus, a joyful whirl,
With their cheeky, impish twirl.
Please, clap, engage, and… stay tuned for the next Christmas story…! But, most importantly, a profound thank you to each one of you. Your unwavering support has been invaluable.
Julia Kalman 