An Italian partisans' song (from World War II, obviously). Sung to the melody of Katjusha.

Fischia il vento, urla la bufera
Scarpe rotte eppur bisogna andar
A conquistare la rossa primavera
Dove brilla il sol dell'avvenir

The wind wistles, the storm screams
Broken shoes, and still we have to go
To conquer the red spring
Where the sun of the future shines

Ogni contrada è patria del ribelle,
Ogni donna a lui donò un sospir
Nella notte lo guidano le stelle,
forte il cuore e il braccio nel colpir.

Every place is the homeland of the rebel,
Every woman gives him a sigh
In the night the stars guide him
Stout heart and arm strong in striking

Se non ci coglie la cattiva sorte,
dura vendetta verrà dal partigian,
ormai sicura è già la triste sorte
del fascista vile traditor

If bad luck does not get us,
A hard vengeance will come from the partisan,
It is already written the doom to befall
to the coward fascist traitor.

Cessa il vento, calma è la bufera
Torna a casa il fiero partigan
Sventolando la rossa sua bandiera
Vittoriosi e alfin liberi siam.

The wind ceases, the storm quiets down
The proud partisan goes back home
Flying his red flag
We are finally victorious and free

The translation is mine. This song still brings tears to my eyes. My grandmother used to sing it to me when I was a kid.

There is a version where instead of "rossa primavera" (red spring) "nostra primavera" is substituted. I suppose that it is slightly less political like that.

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.