by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
Translation © by Garrett Medlock

Le dépit de la bergère
Language: French (Français) 
Available translation(s): ENG
De mon berger volage
J'entends le flageolet.
De ce nouvel hommage
Je ne suis plus l'objet;
Je l'entends qui fredonne
Pour une autre que moi.
Hélas! que j'étais bonne
De lui donner ma foi!

Autrefois l'infidèle
Faisait dire aux échos
Que j'étais la plus belle
Des filles du hameau;
Que j'étais sa bergère,
Qu'il était mon berger;
Que je serais légère
Sans qu'il devînt léger.

Un jour, c'était ma fête,
Il vint de grand matin;
De fleurs ornant ma tête,
Il plaignait son destin.
Il dit: "Veux-tu, cruelle,
Jouir de mes tourments?"
Je dis: "Sois-moi fidèle,
Et laisse faire au temps!"

Le printemps qui vit naître
Des volages ardeurs
Les a vu disparaître
Aussitôt que les fleurs;
Mais, s?il ramène à Flore
Les inconstants zéphirs,
Ne pourrait-il encore
Ramener ses désirs,
Ramener ses désirs?

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

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

  • ENG English (Garrett Medlock) , "The chagrin of the shepherdess", copyright © 2019, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 33
Word count: 134

The chagrin of the shepherdess
Language: English  after the French (Français) 
From my fickle shepherd
I hear the flageolet.
Of this new tribute
I am no longer the object;
I hear it humming
For someone other than me.
Alas! how good I was
To give him my faith!

In the past the unfaithful one
Made to echo [out]
That I was the most beautiful
Of the girls in the hamlet; 
That I was his shepherdess,
That he was my shepherd;
That I could be fickle
Without him becoming fickle.

One day it was my birthday,
He came early in the morning;
Flowers adorned my head,
He bemoaned his fate.
He said: “Would you like, cruel one,
To enjoy my torments?”
I said: “Be faithful to me,
And leave it to time!”

The spring that was born
Of fiery flights
Saw them disappear
As soon as the flowers;
But, if he gives back to Flore
The inconstant zephyrs,
Could he not still
Bring back his desires?

Authorship

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2019 by Garrett Medlock, (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: 

Based on

 

This text was added to the website: 2019-01-08
Line count: 32
Word count: 154