Hymn to Marcillac
On the side of Salles la Source it is the water that is venerated as chauvinists,
But in Marcillac-Vallon the secular miracle transformed water into wine,
In the crosses of the sunny hillside where the Ady flows at the bottom of the green valley,
You Mansois, you Fer Servadou, St Bourrou in the Pantheon of wines raised you.
The winter finally finished, in the spring the trellis comes out of sleep,
Despite the cold, wind, storm and rain,
The winemaker courtiers and pampered every sleeping vine,
In the morning sun, tears at the end of the branches amaze.
Here and there the vineyards, in the shade of a fig tree
Sheltered the tools and the nap of the winemaker after the strong sweats,
A red hood and a black hat, "l'eschanson" sings the wine of gourmets,
With his "tassou" to taste it and to communicate to the work of the men.
Tasting a wine makes arouse feelings,
What do we perceive when we roll it under the tongue,
One appeals to one's quest for identity, one harangues it,
In Marcillac revel in the meeting of winegrowers.
It is to the cardinal with blackcurrant cream that you are welcomed at the Rouergois table,
Either at the Ratafia from the grape must mixed with the awakening brandy,
An aperitif with the seductive amber color and subtle perfume in joy,
But it is the walnut wine that will accompany the cake of the country: the famous Sun.