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Je [lamente]1 sans réconfort, Me souvenant de cette mort Qui déroba ma douce vie; Pensant en ses yeux qui soulaient Faire de moi ce qu'ils voulaient, De vivre je n'ai plus d'envie... [Quand son âme au corps s'attachait, Rien, tant fût dur, ne me fâchait, Ni destin, ni rude influence ; Menaces, embûches, dangers, Villes et peuples étrangers M'étaient doux pour sa souvenance. En quelque part que je vivais, Toujours en mes yeux je l'avais, Transformé du tout en la belle ; Si bien Amour à coups de trait Au cœur m'engrava son portrait, Que mon tout n'était sinon qu'elle. Espérant lui conter un jour L'impatience de l'Amour Qui m'a fait des peines sans nombre, La mort soudaine m'a déçu ; Pour le vrai le faux j'ai reçu Et pour le corps seulement l'ombre. Ciel, que tu es malicieux ! Qui eût pensé que ces beaux yeux Qui me faisaient si douce guerre, Ces mains, cette bouche et ce front Qui prirent mon cœur, et qui l'ont, Ne fussent maintenant que terre? Hélas! où est ce doux parler, Ce voir, cet ouïr, cet aller, Ce ris qui me faisait apprendre Que c'est qu'aimer? Ah, doux refus ! Ah, doux dédains! vous n'êtes plus, Vous n'êtes plus qu'un peu de cendre.]2 Hélas! où est cette beauté, Ce Printemps, cette nouveauté, Qui n'aura jamais de seconde ? Du ciel tous les dons elle avait ; Aussi parfaite ne devait Longtemps demeurer en ce monde... [Si je n'eusse eu l'esprit chargé De vaine erreur, prenant congé De sa belle et vive figure, Oyant sa voix, qui sonnait mieux Que de coutume, et ses beaux yeux Qui reluisaient outre mesure, Et son soupir qui m'embrasait, J'eusse bien vu qu'ell' me disait : "Or' saoule-toi de mon visage, Si jamais tu en eus souci ; Tu ne me verras plus ici, Je m'en vais faire un long voyage. " J'eusse amassé de ses regards Un magasin de toutes parts, Pour nourrir mon âme étonnée Et paître longtemps ma douleur ; Mais onques mon cruel malheur Ne sut prévoir ma destinée. Depuis j'ai vécu de souci, Et de regret qui m'a transi, Comblé de passions étranges. Je ne déguise mes ennuis ; Tu vois l'état auquel je suis, Du ciel assise entre les anges. Ah! belle âme, tu es là-haut Auprès du bien qui point ne faut, De rien du monde désireuse, En liberté, moi en prison; Encore n'est-ce pas raison Que seule tu sois bienheureuse. Le sort doit toujours être égal ; Si j'ai pour toi souffert du mal, Tu me dois part de ta lumière ; Mais, franche du mortel lien, Tu as seule emporté le bien, Ne me laissant que la misère. En ton âge le plus gaillard Tu as seul laissé ton Ronsard, Dans le ciel trop tôt retournée, Perdant beauté, grâce et couleur, Tout ainsi qu'une belle fleur Qui ne vit qu'une matinée... A la Mort j'aurai mon recours : La Mort me sera mon secours, Comme le but que je désire. Dessus la Mort tu ne peux rien, Puisqu'elle a dérobé ton bien, Qui fut l'honneur de ton empire.]2 Soit que tu vives près de Dieu Ou aux champs [Elysés]3, adieu ! Adieu cent fois, adieu, Marie ! [Jamais Ronsard]4 ne t'oubliera, Jamais la mort ne déliera Le nœud [dont]5 la beauté me lie.
About the headline (FAQ)
View original text (without footnotes)1 Leguerney: "me lamente"
2 omitted by Leguerney
3 misspelled in Leguerney's Salabert edition as "Élysées"
4 Leguerney: "Ronsard jamais"
5 Leguerney: "où"
Authorship:
- by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585), "Stances", appears in Sur la mort de Marie, first published 1578 [author's text checked 1 time 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 Jacques Leguerney (1906 - 1997), "Je me lamente", 1943, published 1950 [ voice and piano ], from Poèmes de la Pléiade, Vol. I, no. 3, Éditions Salabert [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (David Wyatt) , "I lament", copyright © 2012, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2004-05-07
Line count: 96
Word count: 554
I lament with no comfort Recalling the death of this lady Which has stolen the sweetness of my life; Thinking of her eyes which used To make of me whatever they wanted I no longer wish to live. When her soul was attached to her body Nothing however hard could upset me Not fate nor rough authority. Threats, ambushes, dangers Strange towns and peoples Were sweet to me because of her memory. Wherever I was living I always had her before my eyes Transformed entirely into beauty. So kind Love with his arrow-shots Engraved her portrait in my heart. So that I was not complete except with her. Hoping to tell her one day Of the impatience of Love Who had given me pains without number Sudden death forestalled me. Instead of the true, the false I received And instead of herself, just her shade. Heaven, how malicious you are! Who would have thought that those lovely eyes Which made such sweet battle with me Those hands, those lips and that brow Which stole my heart, and which have it still Were now no more than earth? Alas, where is that sweet way of talking, Of seeing, of listening, of walking, That smile which made me learn What it is to love? Ah, sweet refusal! Ah, sweet disdain! You are no more, You are no more than a little dust. Alas, where is that beauty, That spring, that newness Which shall never have an equal? She had all heaven's gifts, So perfect a being could never Have lived long in this world. If I hadn't had my spirit filled With vain error, taking leave Of her lovely form, Hearing her voice which rang out better Than it used, and her lovely eyes Which lit up beyond measure And her sighs which set me afire I would have seen what she was saying to me: "Look, get drunk on my appearance If ever you are saddened; You will not see me here again I am going to make a long voyage." I would have amassed a warehouse filled From everywhere with her glances To feed my stunned soul And allow my sadness long to graze. But, see, my cruel fortune Was unable to foresee my fate. Since then I've lived on anxiety And regret which have paralysed me Filled with strange passions. I do not conceal my pain, You see the state I'm in From heaven, seated among the angels. Ah sweet soul, you are up there Beside the good which needs nothing Desires nothing from the world, In liberty while I am in prison. Still, it is not right That only you should be happy. Fate must always be fair; If I have suffered ills for you You owe me part of your light. But, freed of your mortal bonds You alone have taken the good Leaving me nothing but wretchedness. While you were alive, I was the liveliest of men; But you have left your Ronsard alone, Returned too soon to heaven Losing beauty, grace and colour Just like a beautiful flower Which lives but a morning. To Death will I have recourse, Death will be my helper The goal that I seek; Over Death you have no power For he has stolen your goodness Which was the ornament of your reign. Whether you live near to God Or in the Elysian Fields, farewell! Farewell a hundred times, farewell Marie! Never shall Ronsard forget you Never shall death loose The knot in which your beauty binds me.
Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2012 by 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:
- a text in French (Français) by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585), "Stances", appears in Sur la mort de Marie, first published 1578
This text was added to the website: 2012-06-06
Line count: 96
Word count: 588