Recitative
Pleasant wildernesses,
open hills, night, shaded valleys.
Once friendly scenes of delight,
now theater of grief to my gaze.
From you I do not demand
[nor] desire comfort [for] the sadness I feel,
for every one of your pleasures is my torment.
Are you not already
[the] loveliest and most adorned -  
greener than every little [blade of] grass,
more laugh-laden than every flower -
but, you are more beautiful,
I, more sorrowful.

Aria
I look upon you clothed again
with comely flowers and lofty grass
and painted, colored
with the loving spring.
The little breezes race
to kiss your fronds,
and the lovely streams [bestow law]
upon the blonde-haired nymphs.

Recitative
But truly among you I do not find
that comfort which I long for with so much suffering,
and in you, truly, Peace I seek and do not find.

Aria
Once were you alone,
lovely stream, [the] great comfort
of my pain.
Now my torment grows
as I hear
its feeble rumbling.