To a cicada | How happy we think you are

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by Rémy Belleau (1527/8 - 1577)

Translation © by Faith J. Cormier

À la cigale

Language: French (Français)

Our translations: ENG

Ha! Que nous t'estimons heureuse,
Gentille cigale amoureuse !
Car aussi tost que tu as beu,
Dessus les arbrisseaux, un peu
De la rosée, aussi contente
Qu'est une princesse puissante,
Tu fais, de ta doucette vois,
Tressaillir les monts et les bois.

Tout ce qu'apporte la campagne,
Tout ce qu'apporte la montagne,
Est ton propre : au laboureur
Tu plais sur tout, car son labeur
N'offenses, ni porte dommage
N'a luy, ny à son labourage.

Tout homme estime ta bonté,
Douce prophète de l'été.
La muse t'aime et t'aime aussi
Apollon, qui t'a fait ainsi
Doucement chanter. La vieillesse
Comme nous jamais ne te blesse.

Text Authorship:

by Rémy Belleau (1527/8 - 1577) [author's text not yet checked 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 Maurice Emmanuel (1862 - 1938), "À la cigale", op. 13 no. 2 (1911), published 1914 [voice, piano and flute], from Trois odelettes anacréontiques, no. 2, Paris, Éd. Durand [ sung text verified 1 time]

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

ENG English (Faith J. Cormier) , "To a cicada", copyright © 2004, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this page: Olivier Gratzer

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 103

To a cicada

Language: English after the French (Français)

How happy we think you are, 
sweet cicada in love! 
For as soon as you have drunken
a little dew
from the bushes, 
happy as a powerful princess, 
your soft voice makes 
mountains and forests tremble. 

Everything in the country, 
everything in the mountains, 
is yours. You please the ploughman
best, for his toil 
neither insults nor damages himself 
or his ploughing.

All men love your goodness, 
sweet prophetess of summer. 
The Muse loves you, and so does
Apollo, who made you 
to sing so sweetly. Age 
never wounds you as it does us.

Text Authorship:

Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2004 by Faith J. Cormier, (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 Rémy Belleau (1527/8 - 1577)
- Go to the text page.

This text was added to the website: 2004-10-01
Line count: 20
Word count: 94