1: Ecco la primavera


Ecco la primavera

che 'l cor fa rallegrare;

temp'e da 'nnamorare

e star con lieta cera.


No' vegiam l'aria e 'l tempo

che pur chiama allegreza;

in questo vago tempo

ogni cosa ha vagheza.


L'erbe con gran frescheza

e fiori copron prati

e gli alberi adornati

sono in simil manera.






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4: Unter der Linden

Under der linden
an der heide,
dâ unser zweier bette was,
 dâ muget ir vinden
schône beide
gebrochen bluomen unde gras.
Vor dem walde in einem tal,
Tandaradei
schône sanc diu nahtegal.

Ich kam gegangen 
zuo der ouwe,
dô was mîn friedel komen ê.
Da wart ich enpfangen
hêre frouwe,
daz ich bin sælic iemer mê.
kuster mich? wol tûsenstunt!
tandaradei!
seht, wie rôt mir ist der munt.

Dô het er gemachet
also riche
von bluomen eine bettestat.
Des wird noch gelachet innecliche,
kumt iemen an daz selbe pfat.
Bî den rôsen er wol mac -
tandaradei!
merken, wâ mirz houbet lac.

Daz er bî mir læge, 
wessez iemen,
nu enwelle got - sô schamt ich mich.
Wes er mit mir pflæge, 
niemer niemen
bevinde daz wan er unt ich
und ein kleinez vogellîn!
tandaradei!
daz mag wol getriuwe sîn.





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5: Palästinalied


Nu allerst lebe ich mir werde,

sît mîn sündic ouge siht

daz reine lant und ouch die erde

den man sô vil êren giht.

mirst geschehen des ich ie bat,

ich bin kommen an die stat

dâ got mennischlîchen trat.


Schoeniu lant rîch unde hêre,

swaz ich der noch hân gesehen,

sô bist duz ir aller êre:

waz ist wunders hie geschehen!

daz ein magt ein kint gebar

hêre über aller engel schar,

waz daz niht ein wunder gar?


Hie liez er sich reine toufen,

daz der mensche reine sî.

dô liez er sich hêrre verkoufen,

daz wie eigen wurden frî.

anders waeren wir verlorn:

wol dir, sper, kriuz unde dorn!

wê dir, heiden! deist dir zorn.


Dô er sich wolte übr uns erbarmen,

hie leit er den grimmen tôt,

er vil rîche durch uns armen,

daz wir kœmen ûz der nôt.

Daz in dô des niht verdrôz,

dast ein wunder alze grôz,

aller wunder übergenôz.



Hinnen four der sun zer helle

von dem grabe, dâ er inne lac.

des was ie der vater geselle

und der geist, den niemen mac

sunder scheiden: êst al ein,

sleht und ebener danne ein zein,

als er Abrahâme erschein.


Da nâch was er in dem e lande

vierzic tage, dô vúor er dar,

dannen in sîn vater sande.

sînen geist, der uns bewar,

dén sant ér hin wider ze hant.

heilig ist daz selbe lant,

sîn náme, der íst vor got erkant.


In diz lant hât er gesprochen

einen angeslîchen tac.

dâ diu witwe wirt gerochen

und der weise klagen mac

und der arme den gewalt,

der dâ wirt an ime gestalt.

wol im dort, der hie vergalt!


Vrowe min, durch iuwer güete

nu vernemet mine clage,

daz ir durch iuwer hochgemüete

nicht erzuernet, waz ich sage.

Vil lihte daz ein tumber man

misseredet, als er wol kann.

daran solt ir iuch nicht keren an .



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6: Imperayritz de la ciutat joyosa


Imperayritz de la ciutat joyosa

De paradis ab tot gaug eternal

Neta de crims de virtuts habundosa

Mayres de Dieu per obra divinal


Verges plasen ad fas angelical

Axi com sotz a Dieu molt graciosa

Plàcaus estar als fizels piadosa

Pergant per lor al Rey celestial.






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7: Can Vei la lauzeta mover


Can vei la lauzeta mover
De joi sas alas contral rai,
Que s'oblid' e.s laissa chazer
Per la doussor c'al cor li vai,
Ai tan grans enveya m'en ve
De cui qu'eu veya jauzion,
Meravilhas ai, car desse
Lo cor de dezirer no.m fon.

Ai, las tan cuidava saber
D'amor, e tan petit en sai,
Car eu d'amar no.m posc tener
Celeis don ja pro non aurai.
Tout m'a mo cor, e tout m'a me,
E se mezeis e tot lo mon!
E can se.m tolc, no.m laisset re
Mas dezirer e cor volon.


Anc non agui de me poder
Ni no fui meus de l'or' en sai
Que.m laisset en sos olhs vezer

En un miralh que mout me plai.

Miralhs, pus me mirei en te,

M'an mort li sospir de preon,

C'aissi.m perdei com perdet se
Lo bels Narcisus en la fon.


Merces es perduda, per ver, 
Et eu non o saubi anc mai, 
Car cilh qui plus en degr'aver,  
No.n a ges, et on la querrai? 
A! Can mal sembla, qui la ve, 
Qued aquest chaitiu deziron 
Que ja ses leis non aura be, 
Laisse morrir, que no l.aon.


Pus ab midons no.m pot valer 
Precs ni merces ni.l dreihz qu'eu ai, 
Ni a leis no ven a plazer 
Qu'eu l'am, ja mais no.lh o dirai. 
Aissi.m part de leis e.m recre; 
Mort m'a, e per mort li respon,  
E vau m'en, pus ilh no.m rete, 
Chaitius, en issilh, no sai on.


Tristans, ges no.n auretz de me,
Qu'eu m'en vau, chaitius, no sai on.
De chantar me gic e.m recre,
E de joi e d'amor m'escon





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8: A Chantar m’er


A chantar m'er de so qu'eu no volria

tant me rancur de lui cui sui amia

car eu l'am mais que nuilla ren que sia

vas lui no.m val merces ni cortezia

ni ma beltatz ni mos pretz ni mos sens

c'atressi.m sui enganad' e trahia

Com degr' esser, s'eu fos dezavinens


D'aisso.m conort, car anc non fi faillensa

Amics, vas vos per nuilla captenenssa

ans vo am mais non fetz Seguis Valensa

e platz mi mout quez eu d'amar vos vensa

lo meus amics, car etz lo plus valens

mi faitz orgoil en digz et en parvensa

et si etz francs vas totas autras gens


Meraveill me cum vostre cors s'orgoilla

amics, vas me, per qui'ai razon queu.m doilla

non es ges dreitz c'autr' amors vos mi toilla

per nuilla ren que.us diga ni acoilla.

E membre vos cals fo.l comensamens

de nostr'amor! Ja Dompnedeus non voilla

qu'en ma colpa sia.l departimens


Proeza grans, qu'el vostre cors s'aizina

e lo rics pretz qu'avetz, m'en ataïna

c'una non sai, loindana ni vezina

si vol amar, vas vos no si' aclina

mas vos, amics, etz ben tant conoissens

que ben devetz conoisser la plus fina

e membre vos de nostres partimens.


Valer mi deu mos pretz e mos paratges

e ma beutatz e plus mos fins coratges

per qu'eu vos man lai on es vostr' estatges

esta chanson, que me sia messatges

e voill saber, lo meus bels amics gens

per que vos m'etz tant fers ni tant salvatges

no sai si s'es orgoills o mal talens


Mais aitan plus voill li digas, messatges

qu'en trop d'orgoill an gran dan maintas gens




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Lovely Echoes

Lyrics

Here comes Spring
which gladdens the heart.
It's time to fall in love
And have a joyful face.

We see the air and the weather

Bringing about good cheer.
this happy time

everything has beauty.

The grass with great freshness
and the flowers cover the  meadows.
and the trees are adorned
In a like manner.


Medieval Music Database

LaTrobe University

Text revision and translation © Giovanni Carsaniga

Under the linden

by the meadow,

where our bed was,

there you can find,

beautifully broken,

the flowers and the grass.

Before the forest in a valley

Tandaradei

Beautifully sang the nightingale.


I came walking

to the meadow,

my lover had come there already before.

There I was received,

Holy Virgin

for that I am happy forever.

Did he kiss me? At least a thousand times.

tandaradei--

See, how red my mouth is!


There he made

so splendidly,

a bed out of flowers.

Those will laugh, heartily,

who come by on the path

and see by the roses,

tandaradei--

where my head lay.


That he lay with me--

if anyone knew

God forbid I would be ashamed.

How he was with me,

Never, no one

may find out, except for him and me

and a little bird

tandaradei-

that will well keep my secret.


Translation from The Lied, Art Song and Choral Texts Archive

By kind permission of Elizabeth Siekhaus

Now my life has gained some meaning
since these sinful eyes behold
the sacred land with meadows greening
whose renown is often told.
This was granted me from God:
to see the land, the holy sod,
which in human form He trod.


Splendid lands of wealth and power,
I’ve seen many, far and near,
yet of all are you the flower.
What a wonder happened here!
That a maid a child should bear,
Lord of all the angels fair,
was not this a wonder rare?


Here was He baptized, the Holy,
that all people might be pure.
Here He died, betrayed and lowly,
that our bonds should not endure.
Else our fate had been severe.
Hail, O cross, thorns and spear!
Heathens, woe! Your rage is clear.


Taking pity on us, He died a cruel death,

He, the Almighty above us miserable ones, so that we shall escape from that misery.

That this did not embitter Him,

this is a miracle that does not equal any other.



Then to hell the Son descended
from the grave in which He lay,
by the Father still attended,
and the Spirit whom none may give a name:
in one are three,
an arrows haft in unity.
This did Abraham once see.


He remained thereafter forty days in this land, and then ascended to where

His father sent Him from,

sending again here His spirit  to protect us.

Holy shall be the land and its name that is

acknowledged by God.


To this land, so He has spoken,
shall a fearful judgment come.
Widows’ bonds shall then be broken
and the orphans’ foe be dumb,
and the poor no longer cower
under sad misuse of power.
Woe to sinners in that hour!


My lady, with your generosity

listen to my lament,

and through your higher spirit,

do not get angry by that what  I say.

This man may in all his awkwardness be

talking worse than he possibly could,

you should not be disturbed by that.

Empress of the happy city of Paradise,

where all is joy,

Clean from sin and filled with virtues,

Mother of God through the miracle divine,


O lovely Virgin, beautiful as an angel,

Much blessed by God,

Plead for us with your pious Son,

Beg for us to the King of Heaven.


Translation from the program Pilgrymages

By Duo LiveOak

When I see the lark beating 
Its wings in joy against the sun's ray 
Rising up into forgetfulness, letting itself fall 
For the sweetness that comes to its heart, 
Alas! Such envy then comes over me                                            
Of everyone whom I see rejoicing, 
I wonder that my heart, 
Does not melt from desire.


Alas! How much I thought I knew 
About love, and how little I know,                                              

Because I cannot keep myself from loving 
The one from whom I will gain nothing. 
She has all my heart, and my soul, 
And herself and all the world; 
And when she left, nothing remained                                           
But desire and a longing heart.


I have never had power over myself 
Nor been by own man from the very hour 
When she let me see into her eyes, 
Into a mirror that gives me much pleasure.                                   
Mirror, since I saw myself in you, 
Deep sighs have slain me, 
That I have lost myself just as the handsome 
Narcissus did in the fountain.


Mercy is indeed lost, 
And I never knew it, 
Because she, who ought to have most of it, 
Has none, and where will I look for it? 
Ah! It would never seem, when looking at her,                              
That she would let this poor, love-sick wretch, 
Who will never be well without her, 
To die, without helping him.


Since these things will never bring me good from my lady, 
Neither prayers, pity, nor the rights I have,                                  
Nor is it a pleasure to her  
That I love her, I will never tell her again. 
Thus I part from her and give her up. 
She has slain me, and through death I will respond, 
And I go away, since she does not retain me,                                
Wretched, into exile, I know not where.


Tristan, you will have nothing more from me, 
For I go away, wretched, I know not where. 
I will withdraw from singing and renounce it, 
And I hide myself from joy and love. 


Edited by Frederick Goldin 

Translated by Craig E. Bertolet                                            

I am obliged to sing of that which I would not,

So bitter am I over the one whose love I am,

For I love him more than anything;

With him mercy and courtliness are of no avail

Not my beauty, nor my merit nor my good sense,

For I am deceived and betrayed

Exactly as I should be, if I were ungracious.


I am amazed at how you become haughty,

Friend, towards me, and thus I have reason to grieve;

It is hardly right that another love take you from me

On account of anything said or granted to you.

And remember how it was at the beginning

Of our love! May the Lord God never wish

That my guilt be the cause of separation.


My worth and my nobility,

My beauty and my faithful heart should help me;

That is why I send there to your dwelling

This song, that it may be my messenger.

I want to know, my fine and noble friend,

Why you are so cruel and harsh with me;

I don't know if it is haughtiness or ill will.


Songs of the Troubadours and Trouvères: An Anthology of Poems

and Melodies, eds Samuel N. Rosenberg, Margaret Switten, and

Gerard Le Vot, Garland Publishing, 1998.