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Plus dur que fer, j’ai fini mon ouvrage, Que l’an dispost à demener les pas, Ne l’eau rongearde ou des freres la rage L’injuriant ne ruront point à bas : Quand ce viendra que mon dernier trespas M’asouspira d’un somme dur : à l’heure Sous le tumbeau tout Ronsard n’ira pas Restant de lui la part qui est meilleure. Tousjours tousjours, sans que jamais je meure Je volerai tout vif par l’univers, Eternizant les champs ou je demeure De mon renom engressés & couvers : Pour avoir joint les deus harpeurs divers Au dous babil de ma lire d’ivoire, Se connoissans Vandomois par mes vers. Sus donque Muse emporte au ciel la gloire Que j’ai gaignée annonçant la victoire Dont à bon droit je me voi jouissant, Et de ton fils consacre la memoire Serrant son front d’un laurier verdissant.
- by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585), "À sa Muse", written 1550, appears in Les Odes, no. 36 [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)
- [ None yet in the database ]
Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:
- Also set in French (Français), [adaptation] ; composed by Maurice Delage.
Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (David Wyatt) , "To his muse", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2014-09-13
Line count: 20
Word count: 140
I’ve finished my work : it is harder than iron, And years, apt to drag off our steps, Or water which grinds down, or the rage of the Twins Which breaks everything, will not bring this work down. When it happens that my eventual death Will lull me with a hard sleep, at that moment All of Ronsard will not go into the tomb, For the best part of him will remain. Forever, forever, never dying, I shall fly like a swan through the world, Making eternal the fields where I’ve lived, Clothed in my laurels and my renown, For having joined those two different harpers With the sweet babble of my ivory lyre, Whom I made Vendome’s through my verse. Up then, Muse, carry to the heavens the glory Which I’ve won, announcing the victory Which I rightly see myself enjoying, And consecrate the memory of your son Crowning my brow with green laurel.
- 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.
- a text in French (Français) by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585), "À sa Muse", written 1550, appears in Les Odes, no. 36
This text was added to the website: 2017-06-10
Line count: 20
Word count: 155