Estando Herido por un Balazo (Being Wounded by a Shot) is a Spanish Carlist song written during the Third Carlist War (1872-1876). In this song a wounded Carlist soldier is being treated in the Monastery hospital of Irache when the Queen herself – the wife of Don Carlos, pretender to the Spanish throne – comes to dress his wound. The Spaniard, who had been ready to die for God, country and tradition, recounts with joy this special honor granted to him when he was so near death.
The Carlists were supporters of the Don Carlos Bourbon dynasty and stood as a counter-revolutionary force against the destructive influence of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution in Spain. Defending the rights of God, Tradition and the Church. Carlism was a deeply religious movement that espoused the ideals of Catholic militancy. Over the course of several wars during 100 years, Carlism fought for Legitimism and Catholicism against the tide of Liberalism, Republicanism and Communism that threatened to engulf Spain.
Lyrics:
Estando herido por un balazo,
Desesperado de curación,
Pensando sólo en ser coronado,
Por Dios, la Patria y la Tradición.
Estando herido por un balazo,
Desesperado de curación,
Pensando sólo en ser coronado,
Por Dios, la Patria y la Tradición.
Ay que placer sentía yo.
Cuando en Irache,
La misma Reina se me acercó,
Lavó mi herida, me hizo vivir,
En aquel punto de tanta dicha,
Pensé en morir, pensé en morir.
Estando herido por un balazo,
Desesperado de curación,
Pensando sólo en ser coronado,
Por Dios, la Patria y la Tradición.
Estando herido por un balazo,
Desesperado de curación,
Pensando sólo en ser coronado,
Por Dios, la Patria y la Tradición.
Ay que placer sentía yo.
Cuando en Irache,
La misma Reina se me acercó,
Lavó mi herida, me hizo vivir,
En aquel punto de tanta dicha,
Pensé en morir, pensé en morir.
English translation:
Being wounded by a shot,
Desperate for healing,
Thinking only being crowned,
For God, country and tradition.
Being wounded by a shot,
Desperate for healing,
Thinking only being crowned,
For God, country and tradition.
Oh what pleasure I had.
When in Irache,
The Queen herself approached me,
She washed my wound, made me live,
It was so great an honor for me,
That I thought I would die, I thought I would die.
Being wounded by a shot,
Desperate for healing,
Thinking only being crowned,
For God, country and tradition.
Being wounded by a shot,
Desperate for healing,
Thinking only being crowned,
For God, country and tradition.
Oh what pleasure I had.
When in Irache,
The Queen herself approached me,
She washed my wound, made me live,
It was so great an honor for me,
That I thought I would die, I thought I would die.
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