Tres palombas van volando 2

From Arboleras - De las altas mares, Ecos Sefardies de la isle de Rodas, 2009

The ballad tells of a king’s daughter who is gambled away by her father and won by a foreign Moor. As he leads her away, she weeps, and he cruelly tells her that her family is either enslaved or killed. She declares that she mourns her fate itself, and when he offers himself as that fate, she asks for his knife and turns it against him, reversing her destiny at the end.

Text:
Tres palombas van volando    por el, y por el saray del rey,
vola la una y vola la otra,    ya volan, ya volan todas las tres.
Aposaron en un castillo,   castillo, castillo de oro es.
Ahi  había una muchacha    vistida, vistida de catifé.
las colas que ella tenia le encolgan  le encolgan hasta el bel
Por ahí pasó un Moro Franco,    la quería por mujer.
No la daba el rey, su padre,    ni por oro ni por bien,
sino la jugó al juego,   al juego del asifré.
Ya la gana el Moro Franco,   la demando por mujer
El su padre no la daba      ni por oros, ni por oros ni por bien.
Ya la echan al juguete,   al juguete de reyes.
Ya la gana el Moro Franco,   de una vez fin' a tres.
Ya la toma de la mano,    ya se la lleva al vergel.
En medio del camino     lagrimas a dos a tres
- ¿De qué lloras, blanca y linda,   ¿de qué lloras, blanca flor?
si lloras por el tu padre,     huertelano mío es;
si lloras por la tu madre,    cocinera mía es,
si lloras por tus hermanos,   yo matí de un fin' a tres.
- No lloro por padre y madre,   ni por mis hermanos tres:
lloro por la mi  ventura,    que no tenía que ser!
- Si lloras por tu ventura,    en el lado la tenés.
- Si sos tú la mi ventura,   quita el cuchillo del bel.
El se lo dió por la cacha,   ella se lo dio al revés.

Translation:
Three doves go flying over, and over the palace of the king,
one flies and then another, now they fly, now they all three fly.
They settled upon a castle, a castle, a castle that is of gold.
There was a maiden within it, dressed, dressed in silken cloth.
The long trains that she wore they hung, they hung down as far as her waist.
Along that road passed a Frankish Moor, he desired her to be his wife.
The king, who was her father, would not give her, not for gold nor for gain,
but he staked her in a game, in the game that is played by chance.
The Frankish Moor won her, and he claimed her then for his wife.
Still her father would not give her, not for gold, not for gold nor for gain.
Again they cast her to the gaming board, to the gaming board of kings.
The Frankish Moor won her again, once and then up to three times.
He took her then by the hand, and led her away to the orchard.
In the middle of the roadway, tears fell from her two and three at a time.
-Why do you weep, so fair and so lovely, why do you weep, white flower?
If you weep for your father, my gardener he shall be;
if you weep for your mother, my cook she shall be;
if you weep for your brothers, I slew them one by one.
- I do not weep for father or mother, nor for my three brothers;
I weep for my own hard fortune, for what should never have been!
-  If you weep for your fortune, you carry it here at your side.
- If you are indeed my fortune, remove the knife from your waist.
He handed it to her by the hilt, she turned it back to him the other way.