詩人バラッドの悲劇

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最期の詩・・・

それはあまりにも素晴らしく

兵は街の恋人に詩って教えた

やがてその詩は 人から人へと伝わり

誰が綴ったかもわからぬ

その名もなき詩は 大陸中に広まった・・・

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強く美しき 時の女王

絶対的な権力の前に 誰もがひざまづく

来たる女王の誕生祭

その美貌を称える詩を捧げよと

一人の詩人に命じた・・・

女王は問う

「この世で一番美しいのは誰じゃ？」

しかし 彼は譲らない

「私の世界では 陛下は２番目にお美しい・・・」

「枯れてしまった花の美しさ・・・

それは 追憶という名の幻影

朽ちることなく 永遠に咲き続けられる庭園

例え 気高く美しき薔薇でさえ

花である以上 枯れてしまった花には及ばない・・・」

その詩に女王は激昂した

「そなた 余に枯れてしまえと申すのか！？」

宰相の合図一つで 兵達は詩人を取り囲んだ・・・

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天才と謳われし詩人

彼の名はバラッド

今は冷たい地下牢の隅

最期の詩を綴っている・・・

処刑の刻が近づき

胸に薔薇の紋章を抱いた

牢番の兵は 聴いてしまった

彼の綴った最期の詩を・・・

最後の鐘が鳴り終わり

処刑は厳かに執り行われる

最期の瞬間 思い出すのは

故郷の空 風の匂い

今は亡き彼女と過ごした日々・・・

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冷たい秋風が冬を導くように

旅の娘が一人 想い人を尋ねて流離う

どこか懐かしい その詩を口ずさみながら・・・



The last poem...

It was simply breathtaking

A soldier recited it to lovers in the city

Eventually, inevitably, the poem was passed from person to person

No one knew who first wrote it

That nameless poem soon spread across the continent...

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.

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The strong and powerful queen, truly a relic of her time

Everyone kneels before her absolute power

The upcoming festival of The Queen's birthday

To dedicate a poem to her undeniable beauty,

A certain poet was demanded...

The Queen asks

"Who is the most beautiful in this world?"

But he does not yield

"In my world, Your Majesty is only 2nd beautiful, at best..."

"The hidden beauty of a withered flower...

That is simply an illusion named reminiscence

A garden that continuously blooms forever, without decaying

Even a noble, beautiful rose

As long as it's a flower, it cannot match a withered one..."

The poem enraged The Queen

"Are you implying I should wither away!?"

In one swift motion, the prime minister had the poet surrounded by soldiers...

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.

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The poet was extolled as a genius

His name was Ballad

He now sits in the corner of a cold dungeon

Writing his last poem...

The execution draws close

With the emblem of a rose on his chest

The prison soldier was the only one

to hear this last poem...

With the last ring of the bell

The execution was swiftly carried out

The last thing he remembers

The sky of his homeland, the scent of the wind

And the days he spent with a now-dead beloved woman...

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.

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Just as the cold Autumn wind ushers Winter forward

One girl wanders, searching for her beloved

With a somewhat nostalgic poem on her lips...

 The last poem...

It was simply too wonderful.

A soldier told a pair of lovers in the city about a poem.

Eventually, the poem passed from person to person.

The nameless poem,

Whose author remained unknown, eventually spread afar on the continent...

The strong and beautiful queen in her prime.

Everyone kneels before absolute power.

The upcoming queen's birthday.

One poet was ordered to offer a poem praising her beauty...

The queen asks...

"Who is the most beautiful in this world?"

...however, he doesn't give in

"In my world, Your Majesty is the second most beautiful..."

"The beauty of withered flowers...

That is an illusion in the name of reminiscence...

A garden in full bloom throughout eternity without decay...

Even a noble and beautiful rose...

Being a flower itself, cannot match up to a withered one..."

The queen was enraged at the poem.

"You, are you telling me to wither away!?"

With a single sign from the prime minister, the soldiers surrounded the poet...

The poet extolled as a genius...his name is Ballad.

Now, he is writing his last poem in the corner of the cold dungeons...

The time of execution draws close. The prison guard with a rose emblem on his chest

Heard his last crafted poem...

The final bell tolls.

The execution is carried out swiftly.

In his last moments, he remembers...

The sky of his homeland, the scent of the wind.

The days he lived with a woman now dead...

Just like how cold autumn winds guide winter,

One journeying girl wanders in search for her beloved

With a somewhat nostalgic poem on her lips...

 El último poema...

Era demasiado maravilloso.

Un soldado lo recitó a un par de amantes de la ciudad.

En poco tiempo, aquel poema fue pasado de persona a persona.

Nadie sabía quién lo había escrito.

El poema sin nombre terminó propagándose por todo el continente...

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Fuerte y hermosa, una reina de su tiempo.

Todos se arrodillaban ante la presencia de su autoridad absoluta.

El inminente festival del cumpleaños de la reina.

Para ofrecer un poema que alabara su belleza,

un poeta fue ordenado...

La reina preguntó.

「¿Quién es la más bella de este mundo?」

Sin embargo, él no cedió.

「En mi mundo, Su Majestad es la segunda más hermosa...」

「La belleza de una flor marchita...

Eso es una ilusión llamada reminiscencia.

Un jardín que florece continuamente por la eternidad, sin marchitar.

Incluso una rosa hermosa y majestuosa.

Mientras siga siendo una flor, jamás alcanzará a una marchita...」

Aquel poema indignó a la reina.

「¿¡Tú, me estás diciendo que marchite!?」

Con una sola orden del Primer Ministro, los soldados rodearon al poeta...

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El poeta exaltado como un prodigio.

Su nombre era Ballad.

Ahora yace en la esquina de un frío calabozo,

escribiendo un último poema...

El momento de la ejecución está cerca.

Con el escudo de una rosa en su pecho,

el carcelero escuchó

aquella última composición...

La última campanada.

La ejecución es llevada a cabo solemnemente.

En su último momento recuerda

el cielo de su pueblo natal, el aroma del viento,

los días pasados con su amada ya fallecida.

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Como la fría brisa otoñal guiando al invierno,

una viajera deambula en busca de su amado

mientras tararea un poema nostálgico...

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