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Dans ce val solitaire et sombre Le cerf qui brame au bruit de l'eau, Penchant ses yeux dans un ruisseau, S'amuse à regarder son ombre. De cette source une Naïade Tous les soirs ouvre le portail De sa demeure de cristal Et nous chante une sérénade. Les Nymphes que la chasse attire À l'ombrage de ces forêts Cherchent des cabinets secrets Loin de l'embûche du Satyre. Jadis au pied de ce grand chêne, Presque aussi vieux que le Soleil, Bacchus, l'Amour et le Sommeil Firent la fosse de Silène. Un froid et ténébreux silence Dort à l'ombre de ces ormeaux, Et les vents battent les rameaux D'une amoureuse violence. L'esprit plus retenu s'engage Au plaisir de ce doux séjour, Où Philomèle nuit et jour Renouvelle un piteux langage. L'orfraie et le hibou s'y perchent, Ici vivent les loups-garous ; Jamais la justice en courroux Ici de criminels ne cherche. Ici l'amour fait ses études, Vénus dresse des autels, Et les visites des mortels Ne troublent point ces solitudes. Cette forêt n'est point profane, Ce ne fut point sans la fâcher Qu'Amour y vint jadis cacher Le berger qu'enseignait Diane. Amour pouvait par innocence, Comme enfant, tendre ici des rets ; Et comme reine des forêts, Diane avait cette licence. Cupidon, d'une douce flamme Ouvrant la nuit de ce vallon, Mit devant les yeux d'Apollon Le garçon qu'il avait dans l'âme. À l'ombrage de ce bois sombre Hyacinthe se retira, Et depuis le Soleil jura Qu'il serait ennemi de l'ombre. Tout auprès le jaloux Borée Pressé d'un amoureux tourment, Fut la mort de ce jeune amant Encore par lui soupirée. Sainte forêt, ma confidente, Je jure par le Dieu du jour Que je n'aurai jamais amour Qui ne te soit toute évidente. Mon Ange ira par cet ombrage ; Le Soleil, le voyant venir, Ressentira du souvenir L'accès de sa première rage. Corine, je te prie, approche ; Couchons-nous sur ce tapis vert Et pour être mieux à couvert Entrons au creux de cette roche. Ouvre tes yeux, je te supplie : Mille amours logent là-dedans, Et de leurs petits traits ardents Ta prunelle est toute remplie. Amour de tes regards soupire, Et, ton esclave devenu, Se voit lui-même retenu, Dans les liens de son empire. Ô beauté sans doute immortelle Où les Dieux trouvent des appas ! Par vos yeux je ne croyais pas Que vous fussiez du tout si belle. Qui voudrait faire une peinture Qui peut ses traits représenter, Il faudrait bien mieux inventer Que ne fera jamais nature. Tout un siècle les destinées Travaillèrent après ses yeux, Et je crois que pour faire mieux Le temps n'a point assez d'années. D'une fierté pleine d'amorce, Ce beau visage a des regards Qui jettent des feux et des dards Dont les Dieux aimeraient la force. Que ton teint est de bonne grâce ! Qu'il est blanc, et qu'il est vermeil ! Il est plus net que le Soleil, Et plus uni que de la glace, Mon Dieu ! que tes cheveux me plaisent ! Ils s'ébattent dessus ton front Et les voyant beaux comme ils sont Je suis jaloux quand ils te baisent. Belle bouche d'ambre et de rose Ton entretien est déplaisant Si tu ne dis, en me baisant, Qu'aimer est une belle chose. D'un air plein d'amoureuse flamme, Aux accents de ta douce voix Je vois les fleuves et les bois S'embraser comme a fait mon âme. Si tu mouilles tes doigts d'ivoire Dans le cristal de ce ruisseau, Le Dieu qui loge dans cette eau Aimera, S'il en ose boire. Présente-lui ta face nue, Tes yeux avecques l'eau riront, Et dans ce miroir écriront Que Vénus est ici venue. Si bien elle y sera dépeinte Que les Faunes s'enflammeront, Et de tes yeux, qu'ils aimeront, Ne sauront découvrir la feinte. Entends ce Dieu qui te convie A passer dans son élément ; Ouïs qu'il soupire bellement Sa liberté déjà ravie. Trouble-lui cette fantasie Détourne-toi de ce miroir, Tu le mettras au désespoir Et m'ôteras la jalousie. Vois-tu ce tronc et cette pierre ! Je crois qu'ils prennent garde à nous, Et mon amour devient jaloux De ce myrthe et de ce lierre. Sus, ma Corine ! que je cueille Tes baisers du matin au soir Vois, comment, pour nous faire asseoir, Ce myrthe a laissé choir sa feuille ! Ouïs le pinson et la linotte, Sur la branche de ce rosier ; Vois branler leur petit gosier Ouïs comme ils ont changé de note ! Approche, approche, ma Driade ! Ici murmureront les eaux ; Ici les amoureux oiseaux Chanteront une sérénade. Prête moi ton sein pour y boire Des odeurs qui m'embaumeront ; Ainsi mes sens se pâmeront Dans les lacs de tes bras d'ivoire. Je baignerai mes mains folâtres Dans les ondes de tes cheveux Et ta beauté prendra les voeux De mes oeillades idolâtres. Ne crains rien, Cupidon nous garde. Mon petit Ange, es-tu pas mien ! Ha ! je vois que tu m'aimes bien Tu rougis quand je te regarde. Dieux ! que cette façon timide Est puissante sur mes esprits ! Regnauld ne fut pas mieux épris Par les charmes de son Armide. Ma Corine, que je t'embrasse ! Personne ne nous voit qu'Amour ; Vois que même les yeux du jour Ne trouvent point ici de place. Les vents, qui ne se peuvent taire, Ne peuvent écouter aussi, Et ce que nous ferons ici Leur est un inconnu mystère.
J. Leguerney sets stanzas 5-6 in (at least) one setting - see below for more information
J. Leguerney sets stanzas 16-17, 19 in (at least) one setting - see below for more information
J. Leguerney sets stanzas 27-28, 30 in (at least) one setting - see below for more information
J. Leguerney sets stanza 14 in (at least) one setting - see below for more information
J. Leguerney sets stanzas 1-2, 4 in (at least) one setting - see below for more information
About the headline (FAQ)
Authorship:
- by Théophile de Viau (1590 - 1626), "La solitude", subtitle: "Ode" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Jacques Leguerney (1906 - 1997), "Les ormeaux", 1951, stanzas 5-6, from La solitude, no. 1. [text verified 1 time]
- by Jacques Leguerney (1906 - 1997), "Corine", 1951, stanzas 16-17,19, from La solitude, no. 2. [text verified 1 time]
- by Jacques Leguerney (1906 - 1997), "La source", 1951, stanzas 27-28,30, from La solitude, no. 3. [text verified 1 time]
- by Jacques Leguerney (1906 - 1997), "À la forêt", 1951, stanza 14, from La solitude, no. 4. [text verified 1 time]
- by Jacques Leguerney (1906 - 1997), "Le vallon", 1944, published 1986, first performed 1947, stanzas 1-2,4 [voice and piano], from Poèmes de la Pléiade, Vol. VII, no. 3, Max Eschig [text verified 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (David Wyatt) , title 1: "Solitude", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2011-06-02
Line count: 164
Word count: 909
In this lonely, dark vale The stag which bells at the sound of water, Bending his eyes on a stream, Amuses himself with watching his shadow. This fountain's Naiad Opens each evening the portal Of her crystal home And sings me a serenade. The Nymphs brought by the chase To the shade of these forests Seek out secret places Far from the Satyr's ambush. Once, at the foot of this great oak Almost as ancient as the sun, Bacchus, Love [Cupid] and Sleep Dug the grave of Silenus. A cold and shadowy silence Sleeps in the shade of these elms, And the winds batter the branches With their violent love. The most reserved of spirits joins in The pleasure of this sweet resting place Where Philomel [the nightingale] night and day Renews her pitiful call. The osprey and the owl perch there, Here live werewolves; Angry justice never Pursues criminal here. Here love pursues his studies, Venus dresses her altars And the visits of mortals Never trouble these lonely spots. This forest is never violated, Never without disturbing it did Love come there in olden days to hide The shepherd who taught Diana1. Love used, in his innocence As a child, to tend his nets here; And as queen of the forests Diana had the freedom of the place. Cupid, lightening with his soft flame The night of this valley, Placed before the eyes of Apollo The boy for whom his soul longed2. In the shade of this dark wood Hyacinth hid himself, And since then the Sun [Apollo] swore To be the enemy of the shade. Just nearby, the jealous North Wind, Urged by his tormented love, Was the death of this young lover He still sighs for. Holy forest, my confidant, I swear by the God of day That I shall never have any love Which is not plainly evident to you. My Angel shall walk in this shade; The Sun [Apollo], seeing her come, Will again feel in memory The access of his first passion. Corinne, I beg you, come near; Let us lie on this green carpet And, to be better hidden, Let us enter the hollow of this rock. Open your eyes, I beg you; A thousand loves have their home there, And with their little burning wounds Your eye is quite filled. Love sighs for your glances, And, become your slave, Sees himself imprisoned In the bonds of his own power. O beauty undoubtedly immortal, In which the Gods find attractions! By your eyes, I did not really believe That you could be so beautiful. Whoever wanted to paint a picture Which could represent your features Would have to paint much better Than nature ever managed. For a whole age destiny Could strive after her eyes, And I believe that time has not Enough years to make better ones. With pride full of attraction This fair face's glances Shoot fires and darts Whose power the Gods would desire. How full of grace are your colours! How white, and how crimson! Colour brighter than the sun, More uniform than ice. My god! how your hair delights me! It frisks above your brow And seeing it, beautiful as it is, I am jealous when it kisses you. Fair lips of amber and rose, Your conversation displeases If you do not say, as you kiss me, That to love is a fine thing. With an air full of loving fire, At the sound of your sweet voice I see the rivers and woods Blaze up as my soul has done. If you moisten your ivory fingers In this crystal stream, The god who lives in these waters Will fall in love, if he dares drink them. Show him your face, uncovered, and Your eyes will laugh with the waters And in their mirror they will write That Venus has come here. So finely will she be depicted there That the Fauns will be inflamed But will be unable to discover the trick Of your eyes, which they will love. Hear this god who urges you To cross into his element; Hear how he sighs beautifully, His freedom already stolen away. Disturb his fantasy, Turn away from this mirror And you will throw him into despair And relieve my jealousy. Do you see this trunk, this rock? I'm sure they'll stand guard over us, And my love will become jealous Of this myrtle, this ivy. Up, my Corinne, that I may gather Your kisses from morning till evening! See how, to provide us a seat, The myrtle has let fall its leaves! Hear the finch and the linnet On the branch of this rose-bush; See their little throats shake, Hear how they have changed their song! Come here, come here, my Dryad! Here the waters shall murmur, Here birds in love Shall sing a serenade. Lend me your breast that I may drink Of the perfumes which will enfold me; Thus my senses will swoon In the lakes of your ivory arms. I shall bathe my playful hands In the waves of your hair, And your beauty will receive the vows Of my adoring glances. Fear nothing, Cupid watches over us. My little angel, surely you're mine! Ah, I see that you love me truly, You blush as I look at you! Gods, how this timid manner Has power over my spirits! Rinaldo was not more enamoured With the charms of his Armida3. My Corinne, oh to kiss you! No-one but Love can see us, See how even the eyes of day Cannot find room anywhere here. The winds, which cannot be silent, Also cannot hear us, And what we do here Is a secret unknown to them.
1 Probably a reference to the love of Amyntas for Diana's maiden, Sylvia, which (in romantic legend) is ultimately blessed by Diana who recognises the power of love.
2 Hyacinth -- see next stanza.
3 In Torquato Tasso's 'Gerusalemme liberata' (a myth of the 1st Crusade), the Crusader Rinaldo is seduced by Armida and abandons his duty.
Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2013 by David Wyatt, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Théophile de Viau (1590 - 1626), "La solitude", subtitle: "Ode"
This text was added to the website: 2013-05-07
Line count: 164
Word count: 950