by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
Helas! Je voy mon cuer
Language: French (Français)
Helas! Je voy mon cuer a fin venir
En desirant avoir un don d'amour,
Qui tant m'a fait de bien et de plaisir
Quiconques nulz homs tant eut de baudour ;
Mais Fortune m'a joué d'un faulz tour
Dont se je n'ay secours de vray effort
Je croy que brief seray sanz doubte mort.
He, Fortune, tu fais ton pris hair
A pluseurs gens qui treuvent amertour
En ta roue qui tout bien fayt perir,
Muer legier joye et jeu en plour ;
Or m'az bouté au fleuve de tristor
Dont je te di, quar tu me fays tel tort,
Je croy que brief seray sanz doubte mort.
A vous supli, tresreluisant saphir,
Dois et ruissel, fontayne de douçour,
Gentil façon ou sont tuit mi desir,
Fruit vertueux de tresplaisant saveur,
Aleges moy de ma grieve dolour
Ou de certain, se n'ay de vous confort,
Je croy que brief seray sanz doute mort.
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 or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Grant Hicks) (David Wyatt) , "Alas, I see my heart", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Grant Hicks
[Guest Editor] , David Wyatt
This text was added to the website: 2013-03-09
Line count: 21
Word count: 151
Alas, I see my heart
Language: English  after the French (Français)
Alas, I see my heart coming to its death
In wishing to have a gift from Love
Who has given me such good things, such pleasure,
That no other man has had such happiness;
But Fortune has played me a false turn
From which, if I have no help from true exertion,
I believe that shortly I shall be without doubt dead.
Ah Fortune, you make many men hate
Your rewards, as they find bitterness
On your wheel, which makes all good things perish,
And changes light-hearted happiness and games into tears;
You have sunk me in the river of sadness,
So that I say to you, for you do me such wrong,
I believe that shortly I shall be without doubt dead.
I entreat you, resplendent sapphire,
Spring and stream, fountain of sweetness,
Noble creation wherein are all my desires,
Virtuous fruit of most pleasing flavor,
Relieve me of my grave distress,
Or certainly, if I do not have comfort from you,
I believe that doubtless I shall soon be dead.
Note: stanzas 1-2 were translated by David Wyatt and stanza 1 by Grant Hicks.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2013 by Grant Hicks and 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.
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Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2013-03-09
Line count: 21
Word count: 172