Poetry by Lorenzo de` Medici (1449-1492)

Poetry by Lorenzo de’ Medici (1449-1492)
I
Datemi pace omai, sospiri ardenti,
o pensier sempre nel bel viso fissi,
chè qualche sonno placido venissi
alle roranti mie luci dolenti.
Or li uomini e le fere hanno le urgenti
fatiche e dur pensier queti e remissi,
e già i bianchi cavalli al giogo à missi
la scorta de’ febei raggi orienti.
Deh! Facciam tregua, Amor ch’io ti prometto
ne’ sonni sol veder quell’amoroso
viso, udir le parole ch’ella dice,
toccar la bianca man che’l cor m’ha stretto!
O Amor del mio ben troppo invidioso,
lassami almen dormendo esser felice, dormendo esser felice.
I
O give me peace at last, passionate sighs,
ye thoughts upon that beauteous face transfixed,
that tranquil sleep might somehow be welcomed
to these my sorrowful, watery eyes.
Now have both men and beasts insistent
labour and harsh thoughts tamed and appeased,
and the white clouds like horses have been yoked
to th’ eastern rays of Phoebus, the sun’s escort.
O! let’s make a truce! and, Love, I promise willing
that I’ll see whilst sleeping only that loving
face, her words alone I’ll hear,
that white hand will I touch that so did touch my heart!
O Love, too solicitous of my well-being,
let me at least be happy when I sleep, be happy when I sleep.
II
Romperanno i silenzi assai men lunghi
cantando per le fronde allor gli uccelli.
Alcun al vecchio nido par ch’aggiunghi
certe festuche e piccoli fuscelli.
Campeggeran ne’ verdi prati i funghi:
liete donne corranno or questi or quelli!
Lascerà il ghiro il sonno e’l loco ov’era
e l’assiuol si sentirà la sera.
Allor che un venticel suave spira
con dolce legge, i fiori a terra piega,
e scherzando con essi intorno gira,
talor gli annoda or scioglie or gli rilega.
Ondeggia alta e s’adira
l’erba vicina alla futura sega;
suave suon la giovinetta frasca
rende, né pur un fior a terra casca.
In mezzo a tante cose grate e belle
la mia donna bellissima e gentile,
vincendo l’altre, adorna tutte quelle
in una veste candida e sottile.
Parlando in nòve e tacite favelle
con gli occhi al cor, quando la bocca sile:
Vientene, dice a me, caro cuor mio,
qui è la pace d’ogni tuo disio.
II
Thus will the birds their brief silence break
singing here and there amongst the branches several for old nests seem to take
fresh straw, and tiny strands to weave.
Mushrooms hosted in the verdant meadows,
are chased by light-hearted women who pick now these, now those.
Then the dormouse her sleep and home will quit
till evening comes, the cry of the owl with it.
And when a gentle breeze here be blowing
in sweet decree it bends the flowers to ground,
playf’lly around them spinning and swirling,
by turns, it ties, looses, binds as it bounds.
The tall grass, doomed to the scythe, is swaying
angrily falling down upon the mound;
in delicate notes the young bough answers
sweetly, nor falls to the ground any flower.
Amidst so many pleasant and fine things
my lady, very beautiful and kind,
surpassing th’others, all of them graces,
in her most diaphanous garment white.
Speaking in new and never uttered words,
her eyes to my heart, for her mouth is silent:
Come, she says to me, O my dear sweetheart,
here’s peace, fulfilment longed for by your heart.
III
Contemplazione della bellezza –
intermezzo strumentale
III
Contemplation of beauty –
instrumental interlude
IV
Una donna il cor m’ha tolto:
or non vuole e non mel rende,
hammi un laccio al core avvolto;
ella m’arde, ella m’incende!
Quand’io grido, non m’intende;
quand’i piango, ella si ride;
non mi sana e non m’uccide,
tienmi pure in dolor tanti!
Ecco l’ossa, ecco la carne,
ecco il cuore, ecco la vita …
O crudel, che vuoi tu farne?
Ecco l’anima smarrita.
Chè rinnuovi mia ferita,
e del sangue mio se’ingorda?
Questa bella aspida sorda
chi verrà che me l’incanti?
IV
Thus did a lady take my heart:
nor she wants nor gives it back,
a noose around it has she cast;
sets me on fire, she burns me black!
When I wail, she listens not;
When I weep, at me she laughs;
She neither makes me well nor kills,
Yet doth she keep me in such pain!
Here are my bones, here’s my flesh,
here’s my heart, my life anew …
O most cruel, what will’st thou do?
Here is my soul, that’s lost for you.
Why art thou my wound renewing
is it for my blood thou’art craving?
This beauteous asp nought hearing
who will charm her ’gainst disdain?
V
Donne belle, io ho cercato
lungo tempo del mio core.
Ringraziato sie tu, Amore,
V
Lovely maidens, I have search’d
for you so long with all my heart.
So, fair Love, well-thankèd be,
ch’io l’ho pure alfin trovato!
Egli è forse in questo ballo
chi il mio cor furato avia:
hallo seco, e sempre arallo,
mentre fia la vita mia:
ella è si benigna e pia,
ch’ella arà sempre il mio core!
Ringraziato sie tu, Amore,
ch’io l’ho pure alfin trovato!
Donne belle, io v’ho da dire
come il mio cor ritrovai:
quand’io m’el senti’ fuggire,
in più begli occhi guardai,
dove ascoso era il mio core,
dove ascoso era il mio core!
Ringraziato sie tu, Amore,
ch’io l’ho pure alfin trovato!
since at last I have found thee!
Here, she’s maybe at this dance
who my poor heart did steal away:
owns it now and e’er perchance,
guards until my life’s last day:
she is virtuous, good and gay,
she alwày will own my heart!
So, fair Love, well-thankèd be,
since at last I have found thee!
Lovely maids, I fain must say
how my heart I’ve found again:
when I felt it fly away,
lov’lier eyes I did attain,
where I have now hid my heart,
where I have now hid my heart!
So, fair Love, well-thankèd be,
since at last I have found thee!
Quant’è bella giovinezza,
che si fugge tuttavia!
Chi vuol esser lieto, sia:
di doman non v’è certezza.
Ah! Ringraziato sie tu, Amore,
ch’io l’ho pure alfin trovato!
How wondrous beautiful is youth,
yet fleeting, so soon gone, in truth !
He who will, let happy be,
The morrow has no certainty.
Ah!, fair Love, well-thankèd be,
since at last I have found thee!
Che si viene a questa ladra,
che il mio cor m’ha così tolto?
Com’è bella e leggiadra,
come porta amor nel volto!
Non sia mai il suo cor sciolto,
ma sempre arda col mio core!
Ringraziato sie tu, Amore,
ch’io l’ho pure alfin trovato!
Questa ladra, Amor, lega,
o col furto insieme l’ardi:
non udir s’ella ti priega;
fa’che gli occhi non li guardi:
ma, se hai saette e dardi,
fa vendetta del mio core.
Ringraziato sie tu, Amore!
To this thief what fate now comes,
who my heart did’st take from me?
Mark the beauty of her charms,
love within her face you see!
May her heart ne’er be released,
let it burn as burns mine own!
So, fair Love, well-thankèd be,
since at last I have found thee!
Love, come bind now fast this thief,
else with that she stole do burn her:
listen not if she entreats thee;
let not her eyes with thine confer:
but if darts and arrows offer,
take revenge, as my heart’s fee.
So, fair Love, well-thankèd be!
Translations Copyright © 1996 & 2010 Christopher Lyndon-Gee, with kind contributions from Giuliana Lucchini Bononi