A Don Ata

On the Indian's path, the spirit of Don Ata
His mounted Alazan was seen passing by the vidala
The air of the hill, the flowers of Valle
They tangle in his soul, oh, oh, oh, Don Ata

A Tucuman moonlight illuminates stone and road
And next to the Poor Girl, the mountains and rivers cry for him
For Tafi del Valle, fields and Acheral
Also for the Bomba 'i Lules, just like for Amaicha

The Santiagoan cowgirl, to relieve him from the cold
She weaves a pampa poncho for the Persecuted Payador
Through Barranca, and through Salavina
The Humble one, with the vidala, seeks shelter for him

There goes Don Atahualpa through the world's paths
With a verse as a spear marking the four directions
May God bless him, keep him in glory
For so many beautiful memories and for his memory

A lonely muleteer passed through Altamirano
With a nostalgic whistle in search of his brothers
Driving his sorrow for not finding them
He slowly left the land of Entre Rios

The day is clearing up by Cerro Colorado
And in the thorns of the churqui, a broken lightning strikes
The Aniera wakes up, with the huanchaquenia
San Francisco del Chaniar, also Santa Helena

A Buenos Aires breeze gave him his wind song
And he fell asleep in a trace in a timeless style
There in Pergamino, maybe Santa Rosa
The whole Pampa mourns him in a bordona

There goes Don Atahualpa through the world's paths
With a verse as a spear marking the four directions
May God bless him, keep him in glory
For so many beautiful memories and for his memory