The Lied and Art Song Texts Page

Giunta alla tomba

Language: Italian

Giunta alla tomba, ove al suo spirto vivo
Dolorosa prigion' it ciel prescrisse;
Pallido, freddo, muto, e quasi privo 
Di movimento, al marmo il viso affisse.
Al fin, sgorgando un lagrimoso rivo, 
In un languido "oimè!" proruppe, e disse:
"O sasso amato et onorato tanto, 
Che dentro hai le mie fiamme, e fuor' il pianto, 

"Non di morte sei tu, ma di vivaci 
Ceneri albergo, ov'è riposto Amore;
E ben sento io da te I'usate faci, 
Men dolci si, ma non men cald' al core.
Deh! prendi i miei sospiri e questi baci,
Ch'io bagno di doglioso humore; 
E dagli tu, poich'io non posso, almeno
A le amate reliquie ch'ai nel seno. 

"Dalli lor tu, ché se mai gli occhi gira
L'anima bella a le sue belle spoglie, 
Tua pietate e mio ardir non avrà in ira,
Ch'odio o sdegno là su non si raccoglie.
Perdona ella il mio fallo, e sol respira 
In questa speme il cor fra tante doglie.
Sa ch' empia è sol la mano; e non l' è noia 
Che, s'amando lei vissi, amando moia.

"Et amando morrò: felice giorno,
Quando che sia; ma più felice molto 
Se come errando or vado a te d'intorno, 
Allor sarò dentro al tuo grembo accolto.
Faccian l'anime amiche in Ciel soggiorno,
Sia I'un cenere e l'altro in un sepolto; 
Ciò che 'l viver non ebbe, abbia la morte.
O se sperar ciò lice, altera sorte!"


Input by John Versmoren

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 (or transliterations, if applicable):

Added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.

Before her new‑made tomb

Language: English

 Before her new-made tomb at last arrived,
 The woeful prison of his living spright, 
 Pale, cold, sad, comfortless, of sense deprived,
 Upon the marble grey he fix'd his sight; 
 Two streams of tears were from his eyes derived:
 Thus, with a sad alas, began the knight:- 
 Oh, marble dear! on my dear mistress plac'd.
 My flames within, without my tears thou hast. 
 
 Not of dead bones art thou the mournful grave,
 But of quick love the fortress and the hold;
 Still in my heart thy wonted brand I have,
 More bitter far, alas! but not more cold. 
 Receive these sighs, these kisses sweet receive,
 In liquid drops of melting tears enroll'd, 
 And give them to that body pure and chaste
 Which in thy bosom cold entomb'd thou bast. 
 
 For if her happy soul her eye doth bend 
 On that sweet body which it lately dress'd,
 My love, thy pity, cannot her offend, 
 Anger and wrath is not in angels bless'd; 
 She pardon will the trespass of her friend; 
 That hope relieves me with these griefs oppress'd.
 This hand she knows hath only sinn'd, not I
 Who living lov'd her, and for love now die.
 
 And loving will I die; O happy day 
 Whene'er it chanceth! but O far more blest,
 lf as about thy polished sides I stray, 
 My bones within thy hollow grave might rest;
 Together should in heav'n our spirits stay,
 Together should our bodies lie in chest; 
 So happy death should join what life doth sever:
 O death! O life! sweet both, both blessed ever.


Input by John Versmoren

Authorship Based on

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

    [ None yet in the database ]


Added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.