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Comme la corne argentine De la lune en son croissant Belle et disposte chemine Sous le voyle brunissant Parmy la gemmeuse presse Des autres feus qu’elle suit Ainsi la grace reluist Des beautez de ma [Princesse]1. Ce ne sont que fleurs escloses Sur son jeune et tendre sein : Ses levres ne sont que roses Qu’yvoire sa blanche main : Ses dents petites perlettes, Ses yeux deux astres jumeaux Ou mille et mille amoureaux Trempent de miel leurs sagettes. C’est une douceur benigne Son ris et sa bouche aussi, C’est une voute ebenine Le croissant de son sourcy Elle retient de son pere Le port et la majesté. Les vertus et la bonté Et les graces de sa mere. Et comme la branche tendre Qui prend racine du bas Du laurier se veut estendre Et croistre ses petits bras Et rien que le ciel n’aspire Monstrant son sein verdoyant Et son beau corps ondoyant Au doux souspirs de Zephire : Ou comme la grace belle D’un bouton à demy cloz Monstre sa robbe nouvelle Et son pourpre au fond encloz Ne luy restans que [atente]2 Des rayons d’un beau soleil Pour espandre le vermeil De sa beauté rougisante. Tout ainsi vient en croissance Ceste vierge, qui de soy Ja porte assez d’asseurance Qu’elle est fille d’un grand Roy Sans plus reste une rosee Ou quelque douce chaleur Pour faire espanir la fleur De sa jeunesse espousee. Je voy le Soleil qui lance Desja ses raids dans les eaux, Je voy la nuict qui s’advance D’allumer ses clairs flambeaux, Je la voy qu’elle s’appreste De faire luire [le] feu Du vespre qui peu à peu Ja nous descouvre sa teste. Je voy desja la nuict sombre Qui sur la terre s’espand, Je voy l’espais de son ombre Qui par l’air ja [par l'air]3 : Vien donc l’heure est opportune, O nuict, et si tu reçois Les doux accens de ma voix Monstre nous ta face brune. Or sus la nuict est ja close L’avant coureur est au ciel Sur ceste bouche desclose Il vous faut cueiller le miel : Il vous fault doucement joindre A ce tetin nouvelet Comme un bouton verdelet Qui ne fait ores que poindre. Comme la branche tortisse De la vigne aux verds rameaux Se pend, se [colle]4, et se plisse [Aux]5 bras des jeunes ormeaux Ou comme alors que fleuronne La terre aux raids d’un beau jour Les pigeons se font l’amour De leur bouchette mignonne : Ainsi l’estoile qui guide Les petits amours dorez Avec hymen qui preside A ces festins honorez Vous appelle et vous convie Tous deux au col vous saisir Pour favourer le plaisir Le plus doux de nostre vie. Sus donc avant que l’on sorte Pages ostez la clarté Nymphes qu’on serre la porte Or sus c’est assez chanté Prenez la ceincture belle Que vous pourrez sur le flanc Et serrez l’ivoyre blanc De ceste espouse nouvelle. Vostre ceincture ou les graces Sont empraintes à l’entour Et les plaisantes fallaces Du cruel enfant Amour : Vostre ceincture où sont mises Les amorces et les traits Et les amoureux attraits De cent et cent mignardises. La boucle est d’or estoffee De fleches et d’un carquoys Et l’entour est d’un trophee Lacé de deux arcs Turquois Les bouts sont faits d’une poincte Qui porte un nouveau croissant D’un lierre verdissant Autour de ses flancs estrainte. Atant les Nimpes sacrees Les Nimphettes aux yeux verds De leurs bouchettes succrees Au lict chanterent ces vers Prenans la boucle fatalle De leur belle et blanche main La bouclerent soubs le sein De ceste Nymphe Royalle. Couple d’Amans amiable Que puissiez vous sans ennuys [D’une]6 amitié perdurable Passer les jours et les nuits Sans que jamais ny l’envie Ny le soing ny le couroux Rouille ses yeux dessus vous Pour tourmenter vostre vie. Dieux faictes que de leur race Puisse naistre un enfant beau [Au front qui]7 porte la grace Du pere dès le berceau Et qui de beauté ressamble A la mere, et de pouvoir A ce roy qui s’est faict voir Esgal à vous tous ensemble.
Confirmed with Rémy Belleau, Epithalame sur le mariage de Monsieur le Duc de Lorraine, 1559.
1 Chardavoine: "maistresse"2 Chardavoine: "l’entente"
3 Chardavoine: "se respand"
4 Chardavoine: "noue"
5 Chardavoine: "Du"
6 Chardavoine: "D’un"
7 Chardavoine: "Qui au front"
Text Authorship:
- by Rémy Belleau (1527/8 - 1577), "Chant des nymfes de la Seine" [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 Jean Chardavoine (c1537 - c1580), "Chant des nymfes de la Seine", from Recueil des voix de ville [sung text checked 1 time]
- by Pierre Cléreau (c1515 - 1569), "Chant des nymfes de la Seine" [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (David Wyatt) , "Song of the nymphs of the Seine", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: David Wyatt
This text was added to the website: 2017-06-11
Line count: 136
Word count: 674
As the silvery horns Of the crescent moon Journey fair and eager Beneath the darkening sky Among the jewelled press Of the other fires which she follows, So does grace illuminate The beauty of my [princess]1. Those are but flowers blooming On her young, tender breast; Her lips are but roses, Her white hand but ivory; Her teeth little pearls, Her eyes two twin stars In which thousands of cupids Soak their arrows with honey. A benign sweetness is Her smile and her lips too, An ebony arc is The crescent of her eyebrow, She retains her father’s Bearing and majesty, The virtues and goodness And graces of her mother. And as a tender branch Which roots itself at the foot Of a laurel seeks to extend And grow its little arms, And aims at nothing less than the heavens, Showing its green breast And fine fluttering form To the soft sighs of Zephyr; Or as the fair grace Of a half-closed bud Shows its new dress And the purple hidden in its depths, Awaiting only the expectation Of the rays of a fair sun To spread out the crimson Of its blushing beauty; Just so comes growing This maid, who in herself Already bears enough assurance That she is a king’s daughter, And just needs a little dew Or some slight warmth To make bloom the flower Of her betrothed youthfulness. I see the sun throwing His rays already into the waters, I see the night advancing To light his bright torches, I see her hurrying To set alight the fire Of evening which little by little Reveals to us her head. I see already dark night Spreading over the earth, I see his deep shadow Now spreading through the air; Come now, the time is right, O night, and if you hear The soft accents of my voice, Show us your darkened face. Up now, night is now close, The fore-runner [the evening star] is in the sky; You should gather the honey From these open lips, You should softly touch yours To this youthful breast, Like a green bud Which is just opening. As the branch twisted With the vine and its green boughs Bows down, [sticks to]2, and bends itself In the arms of the young elms, Or as, when the earth Blooms in the light of a lovely day, The pigeons make love With their dear little beaks; So the star which guides The little golden cupids Who preside with Hymen [god of marriage] At this honourable festival Call you and invite you Both to cling to each other’s neck To bring into harmony the sweetest Pleasure in our lives. Up now, before they leave, Pages, take up the lights, Nymphs, close the door; Up, that’s enough singing, Take the lovely belt On her waist, as you can, And squeeze the white ivory Of this new bride. Your belt on which the Graces Are printed all round, And the pleasant tricks Of that cruel boy, Love; Your belt on which are placed The bait and shafts And lures of love Of hundreds of sweet nothings. The buckle is of golden stuff With arrows and a quiver, And around them is a trophy Enslaved with two Turkish bows. The ends are made in a point Carrying a new crescent Of green ivy Enfolded around her waist. So much have the sacred nymphs And nymphettes with their green eyes Sung with their sugared lips These verses around the bed, Taking the fatal buckle In their fair, white hands Buckled it under the breast Of this royal nymph. O couple of loving lovers, May you be able without troubles To spend your days and nights In ever-enduring love Without envy, care Or anger ever Rolling their eyes upon you To torment your lives. Gods, make from their line Be born a fine child Which bears on its brow the grace Of its father from the cradle, And which resembles in beauty Its mother, and in power This king who you can see Is the equal of you all together.
1 Chardavoine: "mistress"
2 Chardavoine: "knots itself"
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2017 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 Rémy Belleau (1527/8 - 1577), "Chant des nymfes de la Seine"
This text was added to the website: 2017-06-11
Line count: 136
Word count: 681