 |  |  |
| The prosody guide is available as a book. Click here for details. |
Ara non siscla ni chanta Rossigniols, ni crida l'auriols En vergier ni dinz forest, Ni par flors groja ni blava; E si·m nais Jois e Chans E creis en veillians; Car no·m ven com sol somnejans. Car a midonz atalanta Qe·m loing dols! E serai ben fols S'eu totz temps ab leis non rest, Pos frain ma dolor plus brava; Si qe fais ni afans No·m pot esser dans, Ni maltraigz no·m dol paucs ni grans. C'a pauc lo cors no·m n'avanta. Q'esquirols non es, ni cabrols, Tan lieus com eu sui, q'el test M'es la joia q'eu cercava; Don son jais en trepans E serai tot lans, Pos ma dona vol mos enans. E neys noca·m n'espavanta Lurs estols dels fels, fals e mols Lauzengiers, cui Deus tempest, Si·m pren midonz e m'entrava Per ja mais a mil ans Tot als seus comans; Q'en als cors non col q'eu m'eslans. Ja Deus, qe·ls jornz fes qaranta Don mos sols es tornatz fillols, No·m des a don ni a prest Mais re, si leis mi salava; Anz li lais el balans Lo mon e mil tans Contra leis qe·m tol totz enjans. C'ap ton cor q'el mieu se planta, Sai qe·m tols–car donar no·m vols Domna, que Jois pais e vest – Tot l'enjan q'a me! portava. Gen lo·m trais. Sain Johans! Ar m'en creis talans Don cairai el sol ablasmans! Ai domna prezans, Ar penz qe·us acol en baizans. Joglar, vostr'enans Voil, e Dieus lo vol mil aitans. |
Now the nightingale neither warbles nor sings and the oriole doesn't whistle in gardens or in forests, neither yellow nor blue flowers appear and yet Joy and Song are born in me, and grow while I'm awake; for they don't come to me, as they used to, when I'm asleep. For my lady elects that I part from sadness! And I shall be rather foolish if I do not remain with her forever, since she destroys my fiercest grief, so that neither trouble nor anguish can harm me, nor does suffering, great or small, afflict me. For my body almost escapes me. There isn't squirrel nor roe deer as light-footed as I am, for in my mind is the joy I was seeking; wherefore I am merry and frisky and I shall be all elan, for my lady wants my improvement. And not even the swarm of the felon, false, flaccid slanderers – may god destroy them – frightens me in the least if my lady captures me and binds me for more than a thousand years, completely, to her service; for I don't let my lust sway me towards someone else. May god, who resisted the forty days because of which this land of mine is christianised never give me as a gift or loan anything more, if he was keeping her for me; rather, I'll leave him, as compensation, this world, and a thousand times as much in exchange for her who purges me of all deceits. For with your heart entering mine I know that you take away – for I know that you don't wish to give me, lady whom joy nourishes and clothes – all the deception that I, alas! used to suffer. You graciously took it away. Saint John! Now my desire mounts in me, wherefore I'll fall to the ground fainting! Ah! Worthy lady, now I imagine that I'm embracing and kissing you. Joglar, I wish for your advancement and god wishes for it a thousand times more. |