| ODA | ODE |
| Francisco de la Torre | trans. Brian Cole |
|
Claras lumbres del cielo y ojos claros del espantoso rostro de la noche, corona clara y clara Casiopea, Andrómeda y Perseo, vos, con quien la divina Virgen, hija del Rector del Olimpo inmenso, pasa los espaciosos ratos de la vela nocturna que le cabe, escuchad vos mis quejas, que mi llanto no es indicio de no rabiosa pena; no vayan tan perdidas como siempre tan bien perdidas lágrimas. ¡Cuántes veces me vistes y me vido llorando Cintia, en mi cuidado el tibio celo con que adoraba su belleza un su pastor dormido! ¡Cuántas veces me halló la clara Aurora espíritu doliente, que anda errando por solitarios y desiertos valles, llorando mi ventura! ¡Cuántas veces mirándome tan triste la piedad de mi dolor la hizo verter amargas y piadosas lágrimas con que adornó las flores! Vos, estrellas, también me vistes solo, fiel compañero del silencio vuestro, andar por la callada noche, lleno de sospechosos males. Vi la Circe cruel que me persigue, de las hojas y flor de mi esperanza, antes de tiempo y sin razón cortadas, hacer encantos duros. Cruda visión, donde la gloria, un tiempo adorada por firme, cayó, y donde peligró la esperanza de una vida de fortuna invidiada. ¡Ay, déjenme los cielos, que la gloria, que por fortuna y por su mano viene, no será deseada eternamente de mi afligido espiritu! |
Bright lights of the heavens and bright eyes in the dreadful face of the night, bright crown and bright Cassiopeia, Andromeda and Perseus, you, with whom the divine Virgin, daughter of the ruler of mighty Olympus, spends the wide expansive hours of the night watch that is her lot, listen to my complaints, for these my tears are clearly signs of no mild grief; let them not be lost as always tears once shed are lost. How often have you seen me weeping, as Cynthia too has seen me in my distress for the lukewarm zeal with which her sleeping shepherd adores her beauty! How often did bright Aurora find me, a grieving spirit, wandering the rough, lonely, deserted vales weeping for my painful fate! How often when she saw me so sad did her pity for my grief cause her to shed bitter and piteous tears with which she beautified the flowers! You stars, you also saw me alone, faithful companion of your silence, walking through the quiet night, full of evil suspicions. I saw the cruel Circe who persecutes me, brewing grim spells from the leaves and flowers of my hope, well before its time arbitrarily cut down. Cruel vision in which the glory I once adored for its firmness fell away, and in which was endangered the hope of a life envied by fortune itself. Ay! Let me be, you heavens, for the glory, that comes through good fortune and by her hand, will not for ever be desired by my afflicted spirit! |
Transl. Copyright © Brian Cole, 2001