This is one of my childhood songs from when I grew up in Southern France, which is historically referred to as Occitania. Occitania refers to the Occitan language, a Romance language which evolved from Latin and was the dominant language of the region until very recently--French only became the dominant tongue from the late 19th century onwards. Occitan is not a standardised, unitary language, rather a set of related dialects forming a dialect continuum: a set of dialects that gradually change the more one travels in a given direction. Pronunciation varies very, very widely between dialects and regions, and the pronunciation I used is the one I'm personally most familiar with, which is the Languedoc variety, since Languedoc is the region I lived in.


The song is said to have been written by Gaston III Phébus in the 14th century, but the validity of this claim can't be verified for certain, and this might be more legend than truth. Today, it is the de facto anthem of Occitania as a cultural identity and nation, and is more often than not sung as a national anthem. Lyrics vary widely between regions, and you'll find many other lyrics in other versions of the song.

Lyrics in Occitan:
Dejós ma fenèstra,
I a un aucelon
Tota la nuèch canta,
Canta sa cançon.

Se canta, que cante,
Canta pas per ieu,
Canta per ma mia
Qu'es al luènh de ieu.

Aquelas montanhas
Que tan nautas son,
M'empachan de veire
Mas amors ont son.

Al cap de la Plantado,
Un laurier verdèja,
Lo pè dins Òrb sa flor ainada,
De sèt cens-ans luseja,

Lyrics in English:
Outside my window,
There's a little bird,
It sings all night,
It sings its song,

If it sings, let it sings,
It sings not for me,
It sings for my love,
Who is far away from me,

These mountains,
So high they are,
They keep me from seeing,
Where my love is,

At the end of the garden,
A laurel grows,
Its roots in the sphere, its flower grows,
From seven centuries, it shines,

Lyrics in French:
Sous ma fenêtre
Il y a un petit oiseau
Qui toute la nuit chante
Chante sa chanson

S’il chante, qu’il chante,
Il ne chante pas pour moi
Il chante pour ma mie
Qui est loin de moi

Ces montagnes
Qui sont si hautes
M’empèchent de voir
Où sont mes amours

Au bout de la plantade,
Un laurier verdit,
Ses pieds dans l'orbe, sa fleur,
Née de sept-cent ans, étincelle,

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