by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
Translation © by Christopher Swanson

Torna, vezzosa Fillide
Language: Italian (Italiano) 
Our translations:  ENG
Torna, vezzosa Fillide,
al caro tuo pastore;
lungi da tue pupille
pace non trova il cor.

Al caro tuo soggiorno
io sempre volgo il piè
e grido notte e giorno:
Fillide mia dov'è?

Domando a quella sponda:
Fillide mia che fa?
E par che mi risponda:
Piange lontan da te.

Domando a quello rio:
Fillide mia dov'è?
Con rauco mormorio
dice: Piangendo sta.

Il caro tuo sembiante,
fonte d'ogni piacere,
il miro ad ogni istante
impresso nel pensier.

Ma rimirando allora
ch'egli non è con me,
grido piangendo ognora:
Fillide mia dov'e?

Son fatte le mie pene
un tempestoso mare;
non trovo, amato bene,
chi le potrà calmar.

Che fa la morte, oh Dio,
che non mi chiama a sé?
Gridar più non poss'io:
Fillide mia dov'è?

Text 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, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (Christopher Swanson) , title 1: "Return, charming Fillide", copyright © 2004, (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: 32
Word count: 127

Return, charming Fillide
Language: English  after the Italian (Italiano) 
Return, charming Fillide,
to your dear shepherd;
Far from your eyes
My heart finds no peace.

To your dear abode
I always turn my steps
And I cry night and day:
Where is my Fillide?

I ask the shore:
What is my Fillide doing?
And it seems to answer:
Weeping far from you!

I ask to river:
Where is my Fillide?
With a hoarse murmur
It says: she is weeping.

Your dear face,
Fountain of every desire,
I see it at every moment
Impressed in my mind.

But seeing more clearly
that it is not with me,
I cry, weeping always:
Where is my Fillide?

I have made in my pain
A tempestuous sea;
I do not find one, beloved,
Who can relieve it.

What is Death doing, God,
That it does not call me?
I cannot cry out any more:
Where is my Fillide?

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from Italian (Italiano) to English copyright © 2004 by Christopher Swanson, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.

    Christopher Swanson.  Contact: swansoncl (AT) longwood (DOT) edu

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Based on:

 

This text was added to the website: 2004-11-16
Line count: 32
Word count: 145