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.
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 .
Επιστροφή στο σημείωμα προγράμματος
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.
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
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
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.