Spanish fiction -- Translations into English; Spanish poetry -- Translations into English
And he, who spends his days in misery,
By the cruel power of absence long oppressed,
Patience his only staff, weak though it be;
Nor doth the eager lover suffer least
Who feels, when most he burns, his lady's power,
By her hard heart and coldness sore distressed.
CRISIO.
His bidding let us do, for lo, the hour
E'en now with rapid flight comes on apace,
When we our herds must needs collect once more.
And while unto the wonted sheltering-place
We go, and whilst the radiant sun to rest
Sinketh and from the meadow hides his face,
With bitter voice and mourning manifest,
Making the while harmonious melody,
Sing we the grief that hath our souls oppressed.
MARS.
Begin then, Crisio, may thine accents fly
With speed unto Claraura's ears once more,
Borne gently by the winds that hasten by,
As unto one who doth their grief restore.
CRISIO.
Whoso from the grievous cup
Of dread absence comes to drink,
Hath no ill from which to shrink,
Nor yet good for which to hope.
In this bitter misery
Every evil is contained:
Fear lest we should be disdained,
Of our rivals' jealousy.
Whoso shall with absence cope,
Straightway will he come to think
That from no ill can he shrink,
Nor for any good can hope.
OROMPO.
True 'tis ill that makes me sigh
More than any death I know,
Since life findeth cause of woe
In that death doth pass it by.
For when death did take away
All my glory and content,
That it might the more torment,
It allowed my life to stay.
Evil comes, and hastily
With such swiftness good doth go,
That life findeth cause of woe
In that death doth pass it by.
MARS.
In my dread and grievous woe
Now are wanting to my eyes
Tears, and breath unto my sighs,
Should my troubles greater grow,
For ingratitude, disdain,
Hold me in their toils so fast
That from death I hope at last
Longer life and greater gain.
Little can it linger now,
Since are wanting to my eyes
Tears, and breath unto my sighs,
Should my troubles greater grow.
ORFENIO.
If it could, my joy should be
Truly all things else above:
If but jealousy were love,
And if love were jealousy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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