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Se i languidi miei sguardi, se i sospiri interrotti, se le tronche parole non han sin or potuto, o bell’idolo mio, farvi delle mie fiamme intera fede, leggete queste note, credete a questa carta, a questa carta in cui sotto forma d’inchiostro il cor stillai. Qui sotto scorgerete quegl’interni pensieri che con passi d’amore scorron l’anima mia; anzi, avvampar vedrete come in sua propria sfera nelle vostre bellezze il foco mio. Non è già parte in voi che con forza invisibile d’amore tutto a sè non mi tragga: altro già non son io che di vostra beltà preda e trofeo. A voi mi volgo, o chiome, cari miei lacci d’oro: deh, come mai potea scampar sicuro se come lacci l’anima legaste, come oro la compraste? Voi, pur voi dunque siete della mia libertà catena e prezzo. Stami miei preziosi, bionde fila divine, con voi l’eterna Parca sovra il fuso fatal mia vita torce. Voi, voi capelli d’oro, voi pur siete di lei, ch’è tutta il foco mio, raggi e faville; ma, se faville siete, onde avvien che ad ogn’ora contro l’uso del foco in giù scendete? Ah che a voi per salir scender conviene, ché la magion celeste ove aspirate, o sfera de gli ardori, o paradiso, è posta in quel bel viso. Cara mia selva d’oro, ricchissimi capelli, in voi quel labirinto Amor intesse onde uscir non saprà l’anima mia. Tronchi pur morte i rami del prezioso bosco e da la fragil carne scuota pur lo mio spirto, che tra fronde sì belle, anco recise, rimarrò prigioniero, fatto gelida polve ed ombra ignuda. Dolcissimi legami, belle mie piogge d’oro quali or sciolte cadete da quelle ricche nubi onde raccolte siete e, cadendo, formate preziose procelle onde con onde d’or bagnando andate scogli di latte e rivi d’alabastro, more subitamente (o miracolo eterno d’amoroso desìo) fra si belle tempeste arse il cor mio. Ma già l’ora m’invita, o degli affetti miei nunzia fedele, cara carta amorosa, che dalla penna ti divida omai; vanne, e s’amor e’l cielo cortese ti concede che de’ begli occhi non t’accenda il raggio, ricovra entro il bel seno: chi sà che tu non gionga da sì felice loco per sentieri di neve a un cor di foco!
Authorship:
- by Claudio Achillini (1574 - 1640) [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 Claudio Monteverdi (1567 - 1643), "Se i languidi miei sguardi", 1619 [ chorus ], from Libro VII de madrigali, no. 25, madrigal [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Garrett Medlock) , "If my languid glances", copyright © 2019, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- RUS Russian (Русский) (Elena Kalinina) , "Eсли гоpестные мои взоры", copyright © 2016, (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: 78
Word count: 372
If my languid glances, if the interrupted sighs, if the cut off words have not yet been able, oh my beautiful idol, to convince you entirely of my burning [love], read these notes, believe this letter, this letter in which my heart was poured out beneath the shape of the ink. Here beneath, glimpse those internal thoughts which with strides of love course from my soul; better still, see my fire flare up as in its own sphere within your beauty. There is now no part in you which with the invisible power of love does not draw me to itself: I am now but another prey and trophy of your beauty. To you I turn myself, oh hair, my dear lace of gold: ah, how could one ever escape safely when like lace the soul you bind, [when] like gold you purchase it? You are then truly [both] the chain and price of my liberty. Remain with me my precious, divine blonde strand, with you the eternal Fate twists my life upon the spindle of fate. You, you golden hair, you truly are rays and sparks of she who is all of my fire; but, if you are sparks, then how is it that you are always falling down unlike fire? Ah, for you to ascend you must descend, because the heavenly manor toward which you aspire, oh sphere of the passions, oh paradise, is fixed in that beautiful face. My beloved, golden forest, richest hair, in you Cupid weaves a labyrinth such that my soul will not know how to get out. May death cut the branches of the precious forest and shake off my spirit from my fragile flesh, that among fronds so beautiful, although cut, I will remain the prisoner, made of nothing but frozen dust and naked shadow. Sweetest bonds, my beautiful golden rain, now loosened, you fall from those rich clouds where you are gathered up, and, falling, form precious storms, wave upon wave of gold go forth bathing the milky rocks and alabaster streams, suddenly (oh eternal miracle of amorous desire) among such beautiful, burning tempests my heart perishes. But now the hour informs me, oh faithful messenger of my affections, dear love letter, that from my pen you are to be divided now; go, and if Cupid and kind Heaven grant that the light of her beautiful eyes does not shine upon you, find shelter within her beautiful breast: who is to say that you may not arrive through the paths of snow of such a happy place to a heart of fire!
Authorship:
- Translation from Italian (Italiano) 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: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in Italian (Italiano) by Claudio Achillini (1574 - 1640)
This text was added to the website: 2019-09-17
Line count: 78
Word count: 431