Get all 13 Blue Heron releases available on Bandcamp and save 15%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Guillaume de Machaut: Remede de Fortune, A 14th-Century Salmagundi, Johannes Ockeghem Complete Songs Vol. 1, Cipriano de Rore: I madrigali a cinque voci, The Lost Music of Canterbury (Boxed Set), Anonymous: Missa sine nomine (Music from the Peterhouse Partbooks, vol. 5), Christmas in Medieval England, Robert Jones: Missa Spes nostra (Music from the Peterhouse Partbooks, vol. 4), and 5 more.
1. |
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Cantai mentre ch’i’ arsi del mio foco
La viva fiamma, ov’io morendo vissi,
Ben che quant’io cantai e quant’io scrissi
Di madonna e d’amor fu nulla o poco.
Ma se i begli occhi ond’il mio cor s’accese
Del lor chiaro divin almo splendore
Non m’havessero a torto fatto indegno,
Col canto havrei l’interno e grave ardore
A gl’orecchi di tal fatto palese
Che pietà fora ov’alberga ira e sdegno.
A gli amorosi strali fermo segno
Sarei, pieno di dolce aspro martiro
Ov’hora in libertà piango e sospiro.
Ahi, pace in cor d’amanti non ha loco!
Giovanni Brevio
Rime et prose volgari (Rome, 1545)
I sang while I burned from the living flame
of my fire, in which I, dying, lived,
although what I sang and what I wrote
of my lady and of love were nothing, or little.
But if the fair eyes whence my heart was ignited
had not wrongly found me unworthy
of their bright, divine, life-giving splendor,
with song I would have revealed
my inward grievous passion to her ears,
so that there might be pity where anger and disdain now dwell.
I would be a sure mark
for amorous arrows, full of sweet, bitter suffering
where now in freedom I weep and sigh.
Oh, peace has no place in the hearts of lovers!
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translation by Martha Feldman.
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2. |
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Cantai mentre ch’i’ arsi del mio foco
La viva fiamma, ov’io morendo vissi,
Ben che quant’io cantai e quant’io scrissi
Di madonna e d’amor fu nulla o poco.
Ma se i begli occhi ond’il mio cor s’accese
Del lor chiaro divin almo splendore
Non m’havessero a torto fatto indegno,
Col canto havrei l’interno e grave ardore
A gl’orecchi di tal fatto palese
Che pietà fora ov’alberga ira e sdegno.
A gli amorosi strali fermo segno
Sarei, pieno di dolce aspro martiro
Ov’hora in libertà piango e sospiro.
Ahi, pace in cor d’amanti non ha loco!
Giovanni Brevio
Rime et prose volgari (Rome, 1545)
I sang while I burned from the living flame
of my fire, in which I, dying, lived,
although what I sang and what I wrote
of my lady and of love were nothing, or little.
But if the fair eyes whence my heart was ignited
had not wrongly found me unworthy
of their bright, divine, life-giving splendor,
with song I would have revealed
my inward grievous passion to her ears,
so that there might be pity where anger and disdain now dwell.
I would be a sure mark
for amorous arrows, full of sweet, bitter suffering
where now in freedom I weep and sigh.
Oh, peace has no place in the hearts of lovers!
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translation by Martha Feldman.
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3. |
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Hor che ’l ciel et la terra e ’l vento tace,
Et le fere e gli augelli il sono affrena,
Notte ’l carro stellato in giro mena,
Et nel suo letto il mar senz’onda giace,
Veggio, penso, ardo, piango, e chi mi sface
Sempre m’è inanzi per mia dolce pena.
Guerra è ’l mio stato, d’ira e di duol piena,
Et sol di lei pensando ho qualche pace.
Così sol d’una chiara fonte viva
Move ’l dolce e l’amaro ond’io mi pasco:
Una man sola mi risana e punge,
Et perche ’l mio martir non giunga a riva,
Mille volte il dì moro, e mille nasco,
Tanto da la salute mia son lunge.
Francesco Petrarca, Canzoniere 164
Now that the heavens and the earth and the wind are silent
and sleep reins in the beasts and the birds,
Night drives her starry car about,
and in his bed the sea lies without a wave,
I wake, I think, I burn, I weep; and she who destroys me
is always before me, to my sweet pain.
War is my state, full of wrath and suffering,
and only thinking of her do I have any peace.
Thus from one clear living fountain alone
springs the sweet and the bitter on which I feed:
one hand alone heals me and pierces me,
and so that my suffering may not reach its end,
a thousand times a day I die and a thousand am born,
so far am I from my health.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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4. |
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Hor che ’l ciel et la terra e ’l vento tace,
Et le fere e gli augelli il sono affrena,
Notte ’l carro stellato in giro mena,
Et nel suo letto il mar senz’onda giace,
Veggio, penso, ardo, piango, e chi mi sface
Sempre m’è inanzi per mia dolce pena.
Guerra è ’l mio stato, d’ira e di duol piena,
Et sol di lei pensando ho qualche pace.
Così sol d’una chiara fonte viva
Move ’l dolce e l’amaro ond’io mi pasco:
Una man sola mi risana e punge,
Et perche ’l mio martir non giunga a riva,
Mille volte il dì moro, e mille nasco,
Tanto da la salute mia son lunge.
Francesco Petrarca, Canzoniere 164
Now that the heavens and the earth and the wind are silent
and sleep reins in the beasts and the birds,
Night drives her starry car about,
and in his bed the sea lies without a wave,
I wake, I think, I burn, I weep; and she who destroys me
is always before me, to my sweet pain.
War is my state, full of wrath and suffering,
and only thinking of her do I have any peace.
Thus from one clear living fountain alone
springs the sweet and the bitter on which I feed:
one hand alone heals me and pierces me,
and so that my suffering may not reach its end,
a thousand times a day I die and a thousand am born,
so far am I from my health.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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5. |
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Poggiand’al ciel coll’ali del desio
Icaro il fol’ardir’ menol’in parte
Dove si sfe la cera a parte a parte,
Che di pium’e d’orgolio il padre ordio.
Miser, ove ti mena il fatto rio,
Fuor del dritto camin ad infiammarte,
Fer sepultura a le tue membra sparte
Le belle nimphe Galathea e Spio.
Tal si trova dinanzi al lume vostro,
Donna gentil, ogni ardimento humano
Che d’honor et virtute si desvia;
Dinanzi a voi Amor lascivo et vano
Perd’ali e strali. O dov’è chi mi dia
Per honorarv’assai ingegno e ingiostro?
anonymous
Soaring up to the heavens on wings of desire,
Icarus was led by mad daring to the place
where bit by bit the wax melted
that his father had woven with feathers and pride.
O wretch, where the wicked deed leads you,
leaving the straight path to be consumed in flames,
a sepulchre for your scattered limbs
was made by the fair nymphs Galateia and Speio.
Such is the lot, before your light,
noble lady, of every human audacity
that turns away from honor and virtue:
before you lascivious and vain Love
loses his wings and arrows. Oh, where is he who might give me
wit and ink to honor you enough?
Translation by Scott Metcalfe
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6. |
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Poggiand’al ciel coll’ali del desio
Icaro il fol’ardir’ menol’in parte
Dove si sfe la cera a parte a parte,
Che di pium’e d’orgolio il padre ordio.
Miser, ove ti mena il fatto rio,
Fuor del dritto camin ad infiammarte,
Fer sepultura a le tue membra sparte
Le belle nimphe Galathea e Spio.
Tal si trova dinanzi al lume vostro,
Donna gentil, ogni ardimento humano
Che d’honor et virtute si desvia;
Dinanzi a voi Amor lascivo et vano
Perd’ali e strali. O dov’è chi mi dia
Per honorarv’assai ingegno e ingiostro?
anonymous
Soaring up to the heavens on wings of desire,
Icarus was led by mad daring to the place
where bit by bit the wax melted
that his father had woven with feathers and pride.
O wretch, where the wicked deed leads you,
leaving the straight path to be consumed in flames,
a sepulchre for your scattered limbs
was made by the fair nymphs Galateia and Speio.
Such is the lot, before your light,
noble lady, of every human audacity
that turns away from honor and virtue:
before you lascivious and vain Love
loses his wings and arrows. Oh, where is he who might give me
wit and ink to honor you enough?
Translation by Scott Metcalfe
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7. |
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Quand’io son tutto volto in quella parte,
Ove ’l bel viso di madonna luce,
Et m’è rimasa nel pensier la luce,
Che m’arde e strugge dentro a parte a parte,
I’, che temo del cor che mi si parte,
Et veggio presso il fin de la mia luce,
Vomene in guisa d’orbo senza luce,
Che non sa ove si vada, et pur si parte.
Così davanti a i colpi de la morte
Fugo, ma non si ratto, che ’l desio
Meco non venga, come venir sole.
Tacito vo, che le parole morte
Farian pianger la gente: et i’ desio
Che le lagrime mie si spargan sole.
Petrarca, Canzoniere 18
When I am all turned toward that place
where my lady’s fair face shines,
and in my thoughts remains the light
that burns and melts me within, bit by bit,
I, since I fear for my heart, which is breaking,
and see at hand the end of my life,
take my leave like a blind man without sight,
who does not know where he goes, and yet departs.
And so before the blows of death
I flee, but not so quickly that desire
does not come with me, as it is used to.
Silent, I go; for my words of death
would make people weep, and I desire
that my tears be shed in solitude.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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8. |
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Quand’io son tutto volto in quella parte,
Ove ’l bel viso di madonna luce,
Et m’è rimasa nel pensier la luce,
Che m’arde e strugge dentro a parte a parte,
I’, che temo del cor che mi si parte,
Et veggio presso il fin de la mia luce,
Vomene in guisa d’orbo senza luce,
Che non sa ove si vada, et pur si parte.
Così davanti a i colpi de la morte
Fugo, ma non si ratto, che ’l desio
Meco non venga, come venir sole.
Tacito vo, che le parole morte
Farian pianger la gente: et i’ desio
Che le lagrime mie si spargan sole.
Petrarca, Canzoniere 18
When I am all turned toward that place
where my lady’s fair face shines,
and in my thoughts remains the light
that burns and melts me within, bit by bit,
I, since I fear for my heart, which is breaking,
and see at hand the end of my life,
take my leave like a blind man without sight,
who does not know where he goes, and yet departs.
And so before the blows of death
I flee, but not so quickly that desire
does not come with me, as it is used to.
Silent, I go; for my words of death
would make people weep, and I desire
that my tears be shed in solitude.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe
Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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9. |
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Solea lontana in sonno consolarme
Con quella dolce angelica sua vista
Madonna; hor mi spaventa et mi contrista,
Né di duol né di tema posso aitarme:
Che spesso nel suo volto veder parme
Vera pietà con grave dolor mista,
Et udir cose onde ’l cor fede acquista
Che di gioia et di speme si disarme.
“Non ti soven di quell’ ultima sera,”
Dic’ella, “ch’i’ lasciai li occhi tuoi molli
Et sforzata dal tempo me n’andai?
I’ non tel potei dir all’hor, né volli;
hor tel dico per cosa experta et vera,
Non sperar di vedermi in terra mai.”
Petrarca, Canzoniere 250
From afar, my lady used to console me in sleep
with her sweet angelic countenance;
now she terrifies me and makes me sorrowful,
nor can I defend myself against grief or fear:
for often in her face I seem to see
true pity mixed with grave pain,
and to hear things that persuade my heart
to disarm itself of joy and hope.
“Do you not remember that last evening,”
she says, “when I left your eyes moist
and, forced by time, I departed?
“I could not tell you then, nor did I want to;
now I tell you as something tried and true:
Do not hope to see me on earth ever again.”
Translation by Scott Metcalfe Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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10. |
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Solea lontana in sonno consolarme
Con quella dolce angelica sua vista
Madonna; hor mi spaventa et mi contrista,
Né di duol né di tema posso aitarme:
Che spesso nel suo volto veder parme
Vera pietà con grave dolor mista,
Et udir cose onde ’l cor fede acquista
Che di gioia et di speme si disarme.
“Non ti soven di quell’ ultima sera,”
Dic’ella, “ch’i’ lasciai li occhi tuoi molli
Et sforzata dal tempo me n’andai?
I’ non tel potei dir all’hor, né volli;
hor tel dico per cosa experta et vera,
Non sperar di vedermi in terra mai.”
Petrarca, Canzoniere 250
From afar, my lady used to console me in sleep
with her sweet angelic countenance;
now she terrifies me and makes me sorrowful,
nor can I defend myself against grief or fear:
for often in her face I seem to see
true pity mixed with grave pain,
and to hear things that persuade my heart
to disarm itself of joy and hope.
“Do you not remember that last evening,”
she says, “when I left your eyes moist
and, forced by time, I departed?
“I could not tell you then, nor did I want to;
now I tell you as something tried and true:
Do not hope to see me on earth ever again.”
Translation by Scott Metcalfe Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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11. |
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Altiero sasso lo cui gioco spira
Gli antichi honor del gran popul di Marte,
Fiume che fendi questa et quella parte,
Hor quieto et piano, hor pien di sdegno et ira;
Piaggie che ’l mondo ancor ama et sospira,
Consecrate da tante et da tai carte,
Memorie eterne et voi reliquie sparte
Ch’ogni bon alma con pieta rimira:
Parmi d’udir fugendo a voi d’intorno
Sospirar l’onde, e i rami e i fior e l’ora
Lagnarsi, et per dolor romper i sassi,
Che già del pianto s’avicina el giorno
Che ’l bel viso ch’Italia tutta honora
Cinti d’horor al suo partir vi lassi.
Francesco Maria Molza
in Libro terzo delle rime di diversi nobilissimi et eccellentissimi autori (Venice, 1550)
Proud rock whose peak breathes forth
the ancient rites of the great people of Mars;
river that breaks on this side and that,
now quiet and still, now full of rage and fury;
grounds that the world still loves and sighs for,
consecrated by so many and by such writings;
eternal memories, and you scattered relics
on which every good soul gazes with devotion:
I seem to hear fleeing around you
the waves sigh, and the branches and flowers and breeze
lament, and the stones break from grief,
for already the day of weeping draws near
when the fair face that all Italy honors
shall leave you wrapt in horror at her departure.
[Originally written to mark the departure of Vittoria Farnese, sent from
Rome to marry a member of the French royal family.]
Translation by Scott Metcalfe Cf. Martha Feldman
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12. |
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Altiero sasso lo cui gioco spira
Gli antichi honor del gran popul di Marte,
Fiume che fendi questa et quella parte,
Hor quieto et piano, hor pien di sdegno et ira;
Piaggie che ’l mondo ancor ama et sospira,
Consecrate da tante et da tai carte,
Memorie eterne et voi reliquie sparte
Ch’ogni bon alma con pieta rimira:
Parmi d’udir fugendo a voi d’intorno
Sospirar l’onde, e i rami e i fior e l’ora
Lagnarsi, et per dolor romper i sassi,
Che già del pianto s’avicina el giorno
Che ’l bel viso ch’Italia tutta honora
Cinti d’horor al suo partir vi lassi.
Francesco Maria Molza
in Libro terzo delle rime di diversi nobilissimi et eccellentissimi autori (Venice, 1550)
Proud rock whose peak breathes forth
the ancient rites of the great people of Mars;
river that breaks on this side and that,
now quiet and still, now full of rage and fury;
grounds that the world still loves and sighs for,
consecrated by so many and by such writings;
eternal memories, and you scattered relics
on which every good soul gazes with devotion:
I seem to hear fleeing around you
the waves sigh, and the branches and flowers and breeze
lament, and the stones break from grief,
for already the day of weeping draws near
when the fair face that all Italy honors
shall leave you wrapt in horror at her departure.
[Originally written to mark the departure of Vittoria Farnese, sent from
Rome to marry a member of the French royal family.]
Translation by Scott Metcalfe Cf. Martha Feldman
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13. |
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Strane rupi, aspri monti, alte tremanti
Ruine e sassi al ciel nudi e scoperti,
Ove a gran pena pon salir tant’erti
Nuvoli in questo fosco aer fumanti;
Superbo horror, tacite selve e tanti
Negr’antr’herbosi in rotte pietre aperti,
Abbandonati, sterili deserti
Ove han paura andar le belve erranti:
A guisa d’hom che da soverchia pena
Il cor trist’ange, fuor di senn’uscito
Se n’ va piangendo ove la furia il mena,
Vo piangend’io tra voi, e se partito
Non cangia il ciel, con voce assai più piena
Sarò di là tra le mest’ombre udito.
Niccolò Amanio
in Delle rime di diversi nobili huomini et eccellenti poeti…libro secondo (Venice, 1547)
Strange cliffs, harsh mountains, high shaking
ruins, and rocks naked and exposed to Heaven,
where with great effort such steep clouds
of smoke rise in the gloomy, fuming air;
awesome horror, silent woods, and so many
black grass-grown caves opened into broken stones;
abandoned, barren deserts
where wandering beasts go in fear:
Like a man whose sad heart is torn
with excessive pain, out of his mind,
who goes weeping wherever madness leads him,
I go weeping among you: and if Heaven does not
take my side, with much fuller voice
will I be heard from among the sad shades.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. Translation by Martha Feldman
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14. |
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Strane rupi, aspri monti, alte tremanti
Ruine e sassi al ciel nudi e scoperti,
Ove a gran pena pon salir tant’erti
Nuvoli in questo fosco aer fumanti;
Superbo horror, tacite selve e tanti
Negr’antr’herbosi in rotte pietre aperti,
Abbandonati, sterili deserti
Ove han paura andar le belve erranti:
A guisa d’hom che da soverchia pena
Il cor trist’ange, fuor di senn’uscito
Se n’ va piangendo ove la furia il mena,
Vo piangend’io tra voi, e se partito
Non cangia il ciel, con voce assai più piena
Sarò di là tra le mest’ombre udito.
Niccolò Amanio
in Delle rime di diversi nobili huomini et eccellenti poeti…libro secondo (Venice, 1547)
Strange cliffs, harsh mountains, high shaking
ruins, and rocks naked and exposed to Heaven,
where with great effort such steep clouds
of smoke rise in the gloomy, fuming air;
awesome horror, silent woods, and so many
black grass-grown caves opened into broken stones;
abandoned, barren deserts
where wandering beasts go in fear:
Like a man whose sad heart is torn
with excessive pain, out of his mind,
who goes weeping wherever madness leads him,
I go weeping among you: and if Heaven does not
take my side, with much fuller voice
will I be heard from among the sad shades.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. Translation by Martha Feldman
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15. |
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La vita fuge, et non s’arresta un’hora,
Et la morte ven dietro a gran giornate,
Et le cose presenti, et le passate
Mi danno guerra, et le future anchora,
E ’l rimembrar et l’aspettar m’accora,
Hor quinci, hor quindi, sì che ’n veritate,
Se non ch’i’ ho di me stesso pietate,
I’ sarei già di questi pensier fora.
Tornami avanti, s’alcun dolce mai
Hebbe ’l cor tristo; et poi da l’altra parte
Veggio al mio navigar turbati i venti;
Veggio fortuna in porto, et stanco homai
Il mio nochier, et rotte arbore et sarte,
E i lumi bei, che mirar soglio, spenti.
Petrarca, Canzoniere 272
Life is fleeting and does not pause for a moment,
and death follows after by great stages,
and present and past things
make war on me, and future things also,
and remembering and expecting weigh down my heart,
now on this side, now on that, so that in truth,
except that I take pity on myself,
I would already be beyond these thoughts.
If my sad heart ever knew any sweetness,
it reappears before me; and then on the other side
I see the winds turbulent for my voyage,
I see a storm in port, and my helmsman
wearied now, and masts and lines broken,
and the beautiful lights that I used to gaze at, extinguished.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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16. |
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La vita fuge, et non s’arresta un’hora,
Et la morte ven dietro a gran giornate,
Et le cose presenti, et le passate
Mi danno guerra, et le future anchora,
E ’l rimembrar et l’aspettar m’accora,
Hor quinci, hor quindi, sì che ’n veritate,
Se non ch’i’ ho di me stesso pietate,
I’ sarei già di questi pensier fora.
Tornami avanti, s’alcun dolce mai
Hebbe ’l cor tristo; et poi da l’altra parte
Veggio al mio navigar turbati i venti;
Veggio fortuna in porto, et stanco homai
Il mio nochier, et rotte arbore et sarte,
E i lumi bei, che mirar soglio, spenti.
Petrarca, Canzoniere 272
Life is fleeting and does not pause for a moment,
and death follows after by great stages,
and present and past things
make war on me, and future things also,
and remembering and expecting weigh down my heart,
now on this side, now on that, so that in truth,
except that I take pity on myself,
I would already be beyond these thoughts.
If my sad heart ever knew any sweetness,
it reappears before me; and then on the other side
I see the winds turbulent for my voyage,
I see a storm in port, and my helmsman
wearied now, and masts and lines broken,
and the beautiful lights that I used to gaze at, extinguished.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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17. |
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Tu piangi, et quella per chi fai tal pianto
Ne ride, et ride ’l ciel che l’ha raccolta
Fra l’alme elette, libera e disciolta
Dal fral, caduco et corruptibil manto.
Lei, tutta intenta al lume divo e santo,
Dolc’harmonia per ogni parte ascolta,
Poi volgendosi a se si dice, “O stolta,
Perché se’ in terra dimorata tanto?”
Et quando gli occhi suoi qua giù declina,
Vedendo la pregion d’ond’è partita,
Si duol di tua miseria e trista sorte.
El viver nostr’è un fior colto da spina;
Però piange la tua, non la sua morte,
Che morte è quella che si chiama vita.
Antonio Tebaldeo
Opere (Modena, 1498)
You weep, and she for whom you weep
laughs, and heaven laughs, which has received her
among the elect souls, free and released
from her frail, impermanent, and corruptible mantle.
She, all intent on the divine and holy light,
hears sweet harmony on every side,
then, turning to herself, says: “O foolish one,
why did you linger so long on earth?”
And when she lowers her eyes down here,
seeing the prison from which she escaped
she grieves over your misery and sad fate.
Our life is a flower plucked from amongst thorns;
so weep for your death, not for hers,
for death is that which we call “life.”
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. Translation by Angela Lloyd
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18. |
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Tu piangi, et quella per chi fai tal pianto
Ne ride, et ride ’l ciel che l’ha raccolta
Fra l’alme elette, libera e disciolta
Dal fral, caduco et corruptibil manto.
Lei, tutta intenta al lume divo e santo,
Dolc’harmonia per ogni parte ascolta,
Poi volgendosi a se si dice, “O stolta,
Perché se’ in terra dimorata tanto?”
Et quando gli occhi suoi qua giù declina,
Vedendo la pregion d’ond’è partita,
Si duol di tua miseria e trista sorte.
El viver nostr’è un fior colto da spina;
Però piange la tua, non la sua morte,
Che morte è quella che si chiama vita.
Antonio Tebaldeo
Opere (Modena, 1498)
You weep, and she for whom you weep
laughs, and heaven laughs, which has received her
among the elect souls, free and released
from her frail, impermanent, and corruptible mantle.
She, all intent on the divine and holy light,
hears sweet harmony on every side,
then, turning to herself, says: “O foolish one,
why did you linger so long on earth?”
And when she lowers her eyes down here,
seeing the prison from which she escaped
she grieves over your misery and sad fate.
Our life is a flower plucked from amongst thorns;
so weep for your death, not for hers,
for death is that which we call “life.”
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. Translation by Angela Lloyd
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19. |
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Il mal mi preme, et mi spaventa il peggio,
Al qual veggio sì larga et piana via,
Ch’i’ son intrato in simil frenesia,
Et con duro pensier teco vaneggio.
Né so se guerra o pace a Dio mi cheggio,
Ché ’l danno è grave, et la vergogna è ria.
Ma perché più languir? Di noi pur fia
Quel ch’ordinato è già nel sommo seggio.
Ben ch’i’ non sia di quel grande honor degno
Che tu mi fai, che te ne ’nganna amore,
Che spesso occhio ben san fa veder torto,
Pur d’alzar l’alma a quel celeste regno
È ’l mio consiglio, et di spronare il core,
Perché ’l camin è lungo, e ’l tempo è corto.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 244
Ill oppresses me, and I am terrified by the worst,
toward which I see so broad and smooth a way
that I have entered into frenzy like yours
and with hard thoughts rave with you.
I do not know whether to ask God for war or peace,
for the danger is grave and the shame is cruel.
But why languish any more? It shall be with us
as is already ordained at the highest throne.
Although I am not worthy of that great honor
which you do me—for love deceives you
which oft makes a healthy eye see crooked—
still, my counsel is to lift your soul
to that heavenly kingdom, and spur your heart,
for the road is long and the time is short.
(Response to a sonnet addressed to Petrarch by his friend and doctor, Giovanni Dondi dall’Orologio: see Canzoniere ed. Santagata, p. 988-9.)
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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20. |
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Il mal mi preme, et mi spaventa il peggio,
Al qual veggio sì larga et piana via,
Ch’i’ son intrato in simil frenesia,
Et con duro pensier teco vaneggio.
Né so se guerra o pace a Dio mi cheggio,
Ché ’l danno è grave, et la vergogna è ria.
Ma perché più languir? Di noi pur fia
Quel ch’ordinato è già nel sommo seggio.
Ben ch’i’ non sia di quel grande honor degno
Che tu mi fai, che te ne ’nganna amore,
Che spesso occhio ben san fa veder torto,
Pur d’alzar l’alma a quel celeste regno
È ’l mio consiglio, et di spronare il core,
Perché ’l camin è lungo, e ’l tempo è corto.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 244
Ill oppresses me, and I am terrified by the worst,
toward which I see so broad and smooth a way
that I have entered into frenzy like yours
and with hard thoughts rave with you.
I do not know whether to ask God for war or peace,
for the danger is grave and the shame is cruel.
But why languish any more? It shall be with us
as is already ordained at the highest throne.
Although I am not worthy of that great honor
which you do me—for love deceives you
which oft makes a healthy eye see crooked—
still, my counsel is to lift your soul
to that heavenly kingdom, and spur your heart,
for the road is long and the time is short.
Response to a sonnet addressed to Petrarch by his friend and doctor, Giovanni Dondi dall’Orologio: see Canzoniere ed. Santagata, p. 988-9.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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21. |
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Per mezz’i boschi inhospiti et selvaggi,
Onde vanno a gran rischio homini et arme,
Vo secur’ io, che non pò spaventarme
Altri che ’l sol, ch’à d’amor vivo i raggi.
Et vo cantando (o pensier miei non saggi)
Lei che ’l ciel non poria lontana farme,
Ch’i’ l’ho negli occhi; et veder seco parme
Donne et donzelle, et sono abeti et faggi.
Parme d’udirla, udendo i rami et l’ore
Et le frondi et gli augei lagnarsi, et l’acque
Mormorando fuggir per l’herba verde.
Raro un silentio, un solitario horrore
D’ombrosa selva mai tanto mi piacque,
Se non che dal mio sol troppo si perde.
Petrarch Canzoniere 176
Through the midst of hostile savage woods,
where armed men go at great risk,
I go without fear, for nothing can frighten me
except that sun which takes its rays from living Love.
And I go singing (oh my unwise thoughts!)
of her whom the heavens could not put far from me,
for I have her before my eyes; and with her I seem to see
ladies and damsels, and they are but firs and beeches.
I seem to hear her, hearing the branches and the breeze
and the leaves, and the birds lamenting, and the waters
fleeing with a murmur across the green grass.
Rarely has a silence, a solitary horror
of shady woods ever pleased me so much,
except that I lose too much of my sun.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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22. |
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Per mezz’i boschi inhospiti et selvaggi,
Onde vanno a gran rischio homini et arme,
Vo secur’ io, che non pò spaventarme
Altri che ’l sol, ch’à d’amor vivo i raggi.
Et vo cantando (o pensier miei non saggi)
Lei che ’l ciel non poria lontana farme,
Ch’i’ l’ho negli occhi; et veder seco parme
Donne et donzelle, et sono abeti et faggi.
Parme d’udirla, udendo i rami et l’ore
Et le frondi et gli augei lagnarsi, et l’acque
Mormorando fuggir per l’herba verde.
Raro un silentio, un solitario horrore
D’ombrosa selva mai tanto mi piacque,
Se non che dal mio sol troppo si perde.
Petrarch Canzoniere 176
Through the midst of hostile savage woods,
where armed men go at great risk,
I go without fear, for nothing can frighten me
except that sun which takes its rays from living Love.
And I go singing (oh my unwise thoughts!)
of her whom the heavens could not put far from me,
for I have her before my eyes; and with her I seem to see
ladies and damsels, and they are but firs and beeches.
I seem to hear her, hearing the branches and the breeze
and the leaves, and the birds lamenting, and the waters
fleeing with a murmur across the green grass.
Rarely has a silence, a solitary horror
of shady woods ever pleased me so much,
except that I lose too much of my sun.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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23. |
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Quanto più m’avicino al giorno extremo
Che l’humana miseria suol far breve,
Più veggio il tempo andar veloce et leve,
E ’l mio di lui sperar fallace et scemo.
I’ dico a’ miei pensier, Non molto andremo
D’amor parlando homai, ché ’l duro et greve
Terreno incarco come fresca neve
Si va strugendo, onde noi pace havremo.
Perché con lui cadrà quella speranza,
Che ne fe’ vaneggiar sì lungamente,
E ’l riso, e ’l pianto, et la paura, et l’ira.
Sì vedrem chiaro poi come sovente
Per le cose dubiose altri s’avanza,
Et come spesso indarno si sospira.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 32
The closer I approach that last day
that makes all human misery brief,
the more I see that Time runs swift and light
and that my hope of him is fallacious and empty.
I say to my thoughts, “We won’t go on much further now
speaking of love, for this hard and heavy
earthly burden like fresh snow
is melting, and we shall have peace.
“For with it will fall that hope
that made us rave so long,
and the laughter and the tears and the fear and the rage.
“We shall see clearly then how often
people chase after uncertain things,
and how often they sigh in vain.”
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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24. |
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Quanto più m’avicino al giorno extremo
Che l’humana miseria suol far breve,
Più veggio il tempo andar veloce et leve,
E ’l mio di lui sperar fallace et scemo.
I’ dico a’ miei pensier, Non molto andremo
D’amor parlando homai, ché ’l duro et greve
Terreno incarco come fresca neve
Si va strugendo, onde noi pace havremo.
Perché con lui cadrà quella speranza,
Che ne fe’ vaneggiar sì lungamente,
E ’l riso, e ’l pianto, et la paura, et l’ira.
Sì vedrem chiaro poi come sovente
Per le cose dubiose altri s’avanza,
Et come spesso indarno si sospira.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 32
The closer I approach that last day
that makes all human misery brief,
the more I see that Time runs swift and light
and that my hope of him is fallacious and empty.
I say to my thoughts, “We won’t go on much further now
speaking of love, for this hard and heavy
earthly burden like fresh snow
is melting, and we shall have peace.
“For with it will fall that hope
that made us rave so long,
and the laughter and the tears and the fear and the rage.
“We shall see clearly then how often
people chase after uncertain things,
and how often they sigh in vain.”
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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25. |
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Perseguendomi Amor al luogo usato,
Ristretto in guisa d’huom ch’aspetta guerra,
Che si provede, e i passi intorno serra,
Di miei antichi pensier’ mi stava armato.
Volsimi, et vidi un’ombra che da lato
Stampava il sole, et riconobbi in terra
Quella che, se ’l giudicio mio non erra,
Era piu degna d’immortale stato.
Io dicea fra mio cor: Perche paventi?
Ma non fu prima dentro il pensier giunto
Che i raggi, ov’io mi struggo, eran presenti.
Come col balenar tona in un punto,
Così fu’ io de’ begli occhi lucenti
Et d’un dolce saluto insieme aggiunto.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 110
Since Love was pursuing me to the usual place,
I, drawn up like a man who expects war,
who provisions himself and closes the passes all around,
was armed with my old thoughts.
I turned and saw a shadow to one side,
cast by the sun, and on the ground I recognized
her who, if my judgment does not err,
was more worthy of immortal state.
I was saying within my heart: “Why are you afraid?”
but the thought had no sooner entered within
than the rays that melt me were present;
as with lightning the thunder comes at the same instant,
so I was overtaken by those beautiful shining eyes
and a sweet greeting all at once.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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26. |
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Perseguendomi Amor al luogo usato,
Ristretto in guisa d’huom ch’aspetta guerra,
Che si provede, e i passi intorno serra,
Di miei antichi pensier’ mi stava armato.
Volsimi, et vidi un’ombra che da lato
Stampava il sole, et riconobbi in terra
Quella che, se ’l giudicio mio non erra,
Era piu degna d’immortale stato.
Io dicea fra mio cor: Perche paventi?
Ma non fu prima dentro il pensier giunto
Che i raggi, ov’io mi struggo, eran presenti.
Come col balenar tona in un punto,
Così fu’ io de’ begli occhi lucenti
Et d’un dolce saluto insieme aggiunto.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 110
Since Love was pursuing me to the usual place,
I, drawn up like a man who expects war,
who provisions himself and closes the passes all around,
was armed with my old thoughts.
I turned and saw a shadow to one side,
cast by the sun, and on the ground I recognized
her who, if my judgment does not err,
was more worthy of immortal state.
I was saying within my heart: “Why are you afraid?”
but the thought had no sooner entered within
than the rays that melt me were present;
as with lightning the thunder comes at the same instant,
so I was overtaken by those beautiful shining eyes
and a sweet greeting all at once.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe, Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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27. |
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Chi vol veder quantunque pò natura
E ’l ciel tra noi, venga a mirar costei,
Ch’è sola un sol, non pur a gli occhi miei,
Ma ’l mondo cieco, che vertù non cura.
Et venga tosto, perché morte fura
Prima i migliori, et lascia star i rei.
Questa aspettata al regno de gli dei,
Cosa bella mortal passa et non dura.
Vedrà, s’arriva a tempo, ogni virtute,
Ogni bellezza, ogni real costume
Giunti in un corpo con mirabil tempre.
Allhor dirà che mie rime son mute,
L’ingegno offeso dal soverchio lume.
Ma se più tarda, havrà da pianger sempre.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 248
Whoever wishes to see all that Nature
and Heaven can do among us, let him come gaze on her,
for she alone is a sun, and not merely for my eyes
but for the blind world, which does not care for virtue;
and let him come soon, for death steals
the best first, and leaves behind the wicked.
Awaited in the kingdom of the gods,
this beautiful mortal thing passes and does not endure.
He will see, if he arrives in time, every virtue,
every beauty, every regal manner
joined in one body, marvelously tempered.
Then he will say that my rhymes are mute,
my wit overcome by excessive light.
But if he waits too long he shall have to weep forever.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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28. |
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Chi vol veder quantunque pò natura
E ’l ciel tra noi, venga a mirar costei,
Ch’è sola un sol, non pur a gli occhi miei,
Ma ’l mondo cieco, che vertù non cura.
Et venga tosto, perché morte fura
Prima i migliori, et lascia star i rei.
Questa aspettata al regno de gli dei,
Cosa bella mortal passa et non dura.
Vedrà, s’arriva a tempo, ogni virtute,
Ogni bellezza, ogni real costume
Giunti in un corpo con mirabil tempre.
Allhor dirà che mie rime son mute,
L’ingegno offeso dal soverchio lume.
Ma se più tarda, havrà da pianger sempre.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 248
Whoever wishes to see all that Nature
and Heaven can do among us, let him come gaze on her,
for she alone is a sun, and not merely for my eyes
but for the blind world, which does not care for virtue;
and let him come soon, for death steals
the best first, and leaves behind the wicked.
Awaited in the kingdom of the gods,
this beautiful mortal thing passes and does not endure.
He will see, if he arrives in time, every virtue,
every beauty, every regal manner
joined in one body, marvelously tempered.
Then he will say that my rhymes are mute,
my wit overcome by excessive light.
But if he waits too long he shall have to weep forever.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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29. |
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Quel sempre acerbo et honorato giorno
Mandò sì al cor l’imagine sua viva
Ch’ingegno o stil non fia mai che ’l descriva,
Ma spesso a lui con la memoria torno.
L’atto d’ogni gentil pietate adorno,
E ’l dolce amaro lamentar ch’io udiva,
Facean dubbiar, se mortal donna o diva
Fosse, che ’l ciel rasserenava intorno.
La testa or fino, et calda neve il volto,
Hebeno i cigli, et gli occhi eran due stelle,
Onde Amor l’arco non tendeva in fallo.
Perle et rose vermiglie, ove l’accolto
Dolor formava ardenti voci et belle,
Fiamma i sospir, le lagrime cristallo.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 157
That forever cruel and honored day
impressed upon my heart its image so alive
there is no wit or style that can ever describe it,
but often I return to it in memory.
Her gestures adorned with all noble pity
and the sweet bitter lamenting that I heard
made me wonder if it were mortal woman or goddess
who made the sky clear all around.
Her head fine gold, and her face warm snow,
ebony her eyebrows, and her eyes two stars,
whence Love never bent his bow in vain;
pearls and crimson roses, where the gathered
sorrow formed ardent and beautiful words;
flame her sighs, her tears crystal.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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30. |
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Quel sempre acerbo et honorato giorno
Mandò sì al cor l’imagine sua viva
Ch’ingegno o stil non fia mai che ’l descriva,
Ma spesso a lui con la memoria torno.
L’atto d’ogni gentil pietate adorno,
E ’l dolce amaro lamentar ch’io udiva,
Facean dubbiar, se mortal donna o diva
Fosse, che ’l ciel rasserenava intorno.
La testa or fino, et calda neve il volto,
Hebeno i cigli, et gli occhi eran due stelle,
Onde Amor l’arco non tendeva in fallo.
Perle et rose vermiglie, ove l’accolto
Dolor formava ardenti voci et belle,
Fiamma i sospir, le lagrime cristallo.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 157
That forever cruel and honored day
impressed upon my heart its image so alive
there is no wit or style that can ever describe it,
but often I return to it in memory.
Her gestures adorned with all noble pity
and the sweet bitter lamenting that I heard
made me wonder if it were mortal woman or goddess
who made the sky clear all around.
Her head fine gold, and her face warm snow,
ebony her eyebrows, and her eyes two stars,
whence Love never bent his bow in vain;
pearls and crimson roses, where the gathered
sorrow formed ardent and beautiful words;
flame her sighs, her tears crystal.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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31. |
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Far potess’io vendetta di colei
Che guardando et parlando mi distrugge,
Et per più doglia poi s’asconde et fugge,
Celando gli occhi a me sì dolci et rei.
Così gli afflitti et stanchi pensier mei
A poco a poco consumando sugge,
E ’n sul cor quasi fero leon rugge
La notte all’ hor quand’io posar dovrei.
L’alma, cui morte del suo albergo caccia,
Da me si parte, et di tal nodo sciolta
Vassene pur a lei che la minaccia.
Meravigliomi ben s’alcuna volta,
Mentre le parla, et piange, et poi l’abbraccia,
Non rompe ’l sonno suo, s’ella l’ascolta.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 256
Could I but take vengeance on her
who gazing and speaking destroys me
and then, for more pain, absconds and flees,
hiding from me her eyes so sweet and cruel!
Thus she saps my afflicted and tired thoughts,
consuming them little by little,
and above my heart like a fierce lion roars
at night, when I should be at rest.
My soul, which Death chases from its dwelling,
leaves me, and loosed from that knot
goes off straight to her who menaces it.
I marvel indeed if at some time,
while it speaks to her, and weeps, and then embraces her,
it does not break her sleep, if she is listening.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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32. |
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Far potess’io vendetta di colei
Che guardando et parlando mi distrugge,
Et per più doglia poi s’asconde et fugge,
Celando gli occhi a me sì dolci et rei.
Così gli afflitti et stanchi pensier mei
A poco a poco consumando sugge,
E ’n sul cor quasi fero leon rugge
La notte all’ hor quand’io posar dovrei.
L’alma, cui morte del suo albergo caccia,
Da me si parte, et di tal nodo sciolta
Vassene pur a lei che la minaccia.
Meravigliomi ben s’alcuna volta,
Mentre le parla, et piange, et poi l’abbraccia,
Non rompe ’l sonno suo, s’ella l’ascolta.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 256
Could I but take vengeance on her
who gazing and speaking destroys me
and then, for more pain, absconds and flees,
hiding from me her eyes so sweet and cruel!
Thus she saps my afflicted and tired thoughts,
consuming them little by little,
and above my heart like a fierce lion roars
at night, when I should be at rest.
My soul, which Death chases from its dwelling,
leaves me, and loosed from that knot
goes off straight to her who menaces it.
I marvel indeed if at some time,
while it speaks to her, and weeps, and then embraces her,
it does not break her sleep, if she is listening.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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33. |
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Amor, che vedi ogni pensiero aperto
E i duri passi, onde tu sol mi scorgi,
Nel fondo del mio cor gli occhi tuoi porgi
A te palese, a tutt’altri coverto.
Sai quel che per seguirte ho già sofferto,
Et tu pur via di poggio in poggio sorgi,
Di giorno in giorno, et di me non t’accorgi
Che son sì stanco, e ’l sentier m’è troppo erto.
Ben veggio di lontano il dolce lume
Ove per aspre vie mi sproni et giri,
Ma non ho come tu da volar piume.
Assai contenti lassi i miei desiri,
Pur che ben desiando i’ mi consume,
Né le dispiaccia che per lei sospiri.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 163
Love, you who see plainly my every thought
and the hard steps where you alone guide me,
pierce with your glance the depths of my heart,
which is revealed to you, but hidden from all others.
You know what I have suffered to follow you,
and still you climb from peak to peak,
day after day, and do not notice me,
that I am so weary, and the path is too steep for me.
I do see in the distance the sweet light
toward which you spur and turn me along bitter paths,
but unlike you I have no wings to fly.
You leave my desires enough satisfied
as long as I am consumed with desiring well
and it does not displease her that I sigh for her.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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34. |
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Amor, che vedi ogni pensiero aperto
E i duri passi, onde tu sol mi scorgi,
Nel fondo del mio cor gli occhi tuoi porgi
A te palese, a tutt’altri coverto.
Sai quel che per seguirte ho già sofferto,
Et tu pur via di poggio in poggio sorgi,
Di giorno in giorno, et di me non t’accorgi
Che son sì stanco, e ’l sentier m’è troppo erto.
Ben veggio di lontano il dolce lume
Ove per aspre vie mi sproni et giri,
Ma non ho come tu da volar piume.
Assai contenti lassi i miei desiri,
Pur che ben desiando i’ mi consume,
Né le dispiaccia che per lei sospiri.
Petrarch, Canzoniere 163
Love, you who see plainly my every thought
and the hard steps where you alone guide me,
pierce with your glance the depths of my heart,
which is revealed to you, but hidden from all others.
You know what I have suffered to follow you,
and still you climb from peak to peak,
day after day, and do not notice me,
that I am so weary, and the path is too steep for me.
I do see in the distance the sweet light
toward which you spur and turn me along bitter paths,
but unlike you I have no wings to fly.
You leave my desires enough satisfied
as long as I am consumed with desiring well
and it does not displease her that I sigh for her.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translations by Robert Durling and Mark Musa
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35. |
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Ben si conviene a voi
Così bel nome, alma mia rosa, poi
Che con quella beltà che ’l mondo honora
Vincete i più bei fiori,
E i più soavi odori
D’odor vincete anchora.
Dhe, se ’l ciel ve s’aggiri adhora adhora,
Più ch’ad altra giamai cortese e pio,
Non sprezzate orgogliosa il servir mio.
anonymous
Well does such a lovely name
suit you, my life-giving Rose, since
with that beauty that the world honors
you surpass the most beautiful flowers,
and with your fragrance
you surpass the sweetest fragrance as well.
Ah, though the heavens now circle around you,
more courteous and pious than towards any other,
do not haughtily despise my service.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe
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36. |
Ben si conviene a voi
02:50
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Ben si conviene a voi
Così bel nome, alma mia rosa, poi
Che con quella beltà che ’l mondo honora
Vincete i più bei fiori,
E i più soavi odori
D’odor vincete anchora.
Dhe, se ’l ciel ve s’aggiri adhora adhora,
Più ch’ad altra giamai cortese e pio,
Non sprezzate orgogliosa il servir mio.
anonymous
Well does such a lovely name
suit you, my life-giving Rose, since
with that beauty that the world honors
you surpass the most beautiful flowers,
and with your fragrance
you surpass the sweetest fragrance as well.
Ah, though the heavens now circle around you,
more courteous and pious than towards any other,
do not haughtily despise my service.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe
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37. |
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Hor che l’aria et la terra
Per natural destino e pioggia et gielo
Quanto più oltre puote
Et assale et percuote,
Tal che ’l calor si smorza sin al cielo,
Sol nel mio petto ogn’hor lasso si serra
Più vivo ardente lume,
Né per cangiar di ciel cangia costume,
Ma con sì aspra guerra
(Mercè d’una empia et fera) l’alma sface,
Che morte sol desio per trovar pace.
anonymous
Now that the air and the earth
in the natural order of things
are assailed and struck
by the full force of rain and frost,
so that warmth is extinguished all the way up to the heavens,
in my breast alone, alas, is forever enclosed
a most intensely burning light,
nor does it change with changing weather;
but, with harshest warfare,
at the mercy of a wicked and cruel lady, the soul is undone,
so that I desire only death in order to find peace.
Translations by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translation by Massimo Ossi.
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38. |
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Hor che l’aria et la terra
Per natural destino e pioggia et gielo
Quanto più oltre puote
Et assale et percuote,
Tal che ’l calor si smorza sin al cielo,
Sol nel mio petto ogn’hor lasso si serra
Più vivo ardente lume,
Né per cangiar di ciel cangia costume,
Ma con sì aspra guerra
(Mercè d’una empia et fera) l’alma sface,
Che morte sol desio per trovar pace.
anonymous
Now that the air and the earth
in the natural order of things
are assailed and struck
by the full force of rain and frost,
so that warmth is extinguished all the way up to the heavens,
in my breast alone, alas, is forever enclosed
a most intensely burning light,
nor does it change with changing weather;
but, with harshest warfare,
at the mercy of a wicked and cruel lady, the soul is undone,
so that I desire only death in order to find peace.
Translations by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translation by Massimo Ossi.
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39. |
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Da quei bei lumi ond’io sempre sospiro,
Piove dentro al mio cor una tal fiamma,
Ch’io sento consumarmi a dramma a dramma,
Et l’amaro m’è dolce empio martiro.
Luci soavi ov’ha riposto amore
Ogni sua gioia et ogni mio diletto,
Caro de l’alma mia fidato albergo:
Se per soccorso del afflitto core
Al desiato loro almo ricetto
Gli occhi d’humiltà pieni volgo et ergo,
Non sia loro disdetto
Il lume di quel sol che ’l mondo honora,
Cagion ch’amando e ardendo i’ viva et mora.
Giovanni Brevio
Rime et prose volgari (Rome, 1545)
From those fair eyes for which I am always sighing
there rains within my heart such a flame
that I feel myself consumed bit by bit,
and for me the bitterness is sweet, sinful suffering.
Gentle eyes, in which Love has stored
his every joy and my every delight,
trusted dwelling dear to my soul:
if to succor my afflicted heart
I turn and raise my eyes, full of humility,
to their desired divine refuge,
may the light of that sun
that the world honors not be denied them:
the reason that I, loving and burning, live and die.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translation by Angela Lloyd.
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40. |
|
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|
Da quei bei lumi ond’io sempre sospiro,
Piove dentro al mio cor una tal fiamma,
Ch’io sento consumarmi a dramma a dramma,
Et l’amaro m’è dolce empio martiro.
Luci soavi ov’ha riposto amore
Ogni sua gioia et ogni mio diletto,
Caro de l’alma mia fidato albergo:
Se per soccorso del afflitto core
Al desiato loro almo ricetto
Gli occhi d’humiltà pieni volgo et ergo,
Non sia loro disdetto
Il lume di quel sol che ’l mondo honora,
Cagion ch’amando e ardendo i’ viva et mora.
Giovanni Brevio
Rime et prose volgari (Rome, 1545)
From those fair eyes for which I am always sighing
there rains within my heart such a flame
that I feel myself consumed bit by bit,
and for me the bitterness is sweet, sinful suffering.
Gentle eyes, in which Love has stored
his every joy and my every delight,
trusted dwelling dear to my soul:
if to succor my afflicted heart
I turn and raise my eyes, full of humility,
to their desired divine refuge,
may the light of that sun
that the world honors not be denied them:
the reason that I, loving and burning, live and die.
Translation by Scott Metcalfe. Cf. translation by Angela Lloyd.
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Blue Heron Boston, Massachusetts
Winner of the 2018 Gramophone Classical Music Award for Early Music (the first non-European group to win the award), Blue Heron (Scott Metcalfe, dir.) has been acclaimed by The Boston Globe as “one of the Boston music community’s indispensables” and hailed by Alex Ross in The New Yorker for the “expressive intensity” of its interpretations. ... more
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