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Vergine bella, che di sol vestita,
coronata di stelle, al sommo Sole
piacesti sí, che 'n te Sua luce ascose,
amor mi spinge a dir di te parole:
ma non so 'ncominciar senza tu' aita,
et di Colui ch'amando in te si pose.
Invoco lei che ben sempre rispose,
chi la chiamò con fede:
Vergine, s'a mercede
miseria extrema de l'humane cose
già mai ti volse, al mio prego t'inchina,
soccorri a la mia guerra,
bench'i' sia terra, et tu del ciel regina.
- Francesco Petrarch (1304-1374)
O Virgin fair, arrayed in the sun, crowned with stars,
You who found such favor with the highest Sun
that he hid his light in you,
Love drives me to speak of you.
But I cannot even begin without your aid
and the aid of Him who established Himself in you.
I invoke her who has always answered those
Who called upon her with faith.
Lady, if extreme misery in things of earth
ever turned you to pity,
Bend down to to my prayer, help me in my struggle
Though I be clay,
And you the queen of heaven!
translation by Donna Stewart
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Quand'io pens'al martire
Amor que tu mi dai gravos'e forte
Corro per gir'a morte
Cosi sperando i miei danni finire.
Ma poi ch'io giung'al passo
Che port' in questo mar pien di tormento
Tanto piacer ne sento
Che l'alma si rinforza ond'io no'l passo,
Cosi l' viver m' ancide
Cosi la morte mi ritorn' in vita
O miseria infinita
Che l'un apporta e l'altro non recide.
When I think of the suffering
Love, the heavy burdens that you give me
I hasten toward death,
hoping therefore to end mine own damnation.
But then I reach the passage,
I stand at the port of this same sea of heartache.
Overwhelmed with such delight.
That my soul is strengthened by passing through.
Thus, living kills me;
thus dying, life returns.
O endless misery:
one gives, and the other takes away.
(Pietro Bembo CANZONE VI. (XIII.), translated by Donna Stewart
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Madonna, per voi ardo
Et voi non me credete
Perche non pia quanto bella sete
Ogn’hora miro e guardo
Se tanta crudeltà cangiar volete.
Donna, non v’accorgete
Che per voi moro e ardo?
Et per mirar vostra beltà infinita
Et voi sola servir bramo la vita.
My lady, I burn with love for you
And you do not believe it,
For you are not as kind as you are beautiful.
I look at you and admire you constantly.
If you wish to change this great cruelty,
Lady, are you unaware
That for you I die and burn?
And in order to admire your infinite beauty
And to serve you alone, I desire life.
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Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum,
ita desiderat anima mea ad te, Deus.
Sitivit anima mea ad Deum fortem vivum:
quando veniam et apparebo ante faciem Dei?
Fuerunt mihi lacrymae meae panes die ac nocte,
dum dicitur mihi quotidie:
Ubi est Deus tuus?
As the hart longs for the water springs,
So longs my soul for thee, O God.
My soul has thirsted for the living God:
When shall I come and appear before the face of my God?
My tears have been my bread by day and by night,
While it is said to me daily:
Where is your God?
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Tantum ergo Sacramentum
Veneremur cernui:
Et antiquum documentum novo cedat ritui:
Praestet fides supplementum sensuum defectui.
Genitori, Genitoque laus et iubilatio,
Salus, honor, virtus quoque sit et benedictio:
Procedenti ab utroque
Compar sit laudatio. Amen.
Let us therefore, bowing low,
Venerate so great a Sacrament;
And let the old law give way to the new rite;
Let faith afford assistance to the deficiency of the senses.
To the Begetter and the Begotten let there be praise and jubilation,
Salvation and honor, and power and blessing;
And to the One proceeding from both
Let there be equal praise.
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6. |
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Me me and none but me,
dart home O gentle death
and quicklie, for
I draw too long this idle breath:
O howe I long till I
may fly to heaven above,
unto my faithfull and
beloved turtle dove.
Like to the silver Swanne,
before my death I sing:
And yet alive
my fatall knell I helpe to ring.
Still I desire from earth
and earthly joyes to flie,
He never happie liv’d,
that cannot love to die.
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7. |
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If that a Sinners sighes be Angels foode
from Singles by Mignarda
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If that a Sinners sighes be Angels foode by John Dowland (1563 - 1626)
This devotional song was published in Dowland's Pilgrimes Solace in 1612 (No. XIII). Dowland was probably familiar with William Byrd's five-part setting of the same text found in Psalmes, Sonets, & songs of sadnes and pietie, London, 1588, (no.30), but Dowland chose to set only the first verse with a few minor modifications to the words.
Our recording includes the fifth and final verse from Byrd's setting of the poetry.
lyrics
If that a Sinners sighes be Angels foode,
Or that repentant teares be Angels wine,
Accept O Lord in this most pensiue moode,
These hearty sighes and dolefull plaints of mine.
That went with Peter forth most sinfully,
But not as Peter did, weepe [most] bitterly.
[Thy mercie greater is then any sinne,
thy greatnesse non can ever comprehend:
wherefore O Lord, let mee thy mercie winne,
whose glorious name no time can ever end:
wherefore I say all prayse belongs to thee,
whom I beseech bee mercifull to mee.]
Additional verse from William Byrd, Psalmes, Sonets, & songs of sadnes and pietie (London, 1588), no.30
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8. |
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Susanna faire some time assaulted was,
by two old men, desiring their delight:
whose false entent they thought to bring to passe,
if not by tender love, by force & might,
To whom she said, if I your sute denye,
you will mee falsely accuse, and make mee die.
And if I graunt to that which you request,
my chastitie shall then deflouered bee,
which is so deer to mee, that I detest
my lyfe, if it beerefted bee from mee,
And rather would I dye of mine accord,
ten thousand times, than once offend the Lord.
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9. |
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Sleepe slumbringe eyes, give rest vnto my cares,
my cares, the Infants of my troubled braine,
my cares surprisde, surprisde with Black dispaire
doth the assertion of my hopes restraine.
Sleepe then my eyes ô sleep & take your Reste
To banishe sorrow from a free borne Breste.
My freborn brest born Free to sorrowes Smarte
brought in subiection by my wandringe Eye
Whose traytrus sighte conceivd that to my harte,
For which I waile, I sob, I sighe, I Dye.
Sleepe then my eyes, disturbed of quiet reste,
To banishe sorrow From my captive breste.
My captive brest, stounge by these glistringe starres:
these glistringe starres: the bewty of the skye:
that bright blacke skye which doth the soon beames baine:
From Her sweete comforte on my harts sad eye:
Wake then my eyes trewe partners of vnreste:
For Sorrow still must harboure in my breste.
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10. |
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11. |
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Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid.
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown.
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown.
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there!
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12. |
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Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
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13. |
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No more shall meads be deck’d with flow’rs,
Nor sweetness live in rosy bow’rs,
Nor greenest buds on branches spring,
Nor warbling birds delight to sing,
Nor April violets paint the grove,
When once I leave my Celia’s love.
The fish shall in the ocean burn,
And fountains sweet shall bitter turn;
The humble vale no floods shall know,
When floods shall highest hills o’erflow:
Black Lethe shall oblivion leave,
Before my Celia I deceive.
Love shall his bow and shafts lay by,
And Venus’ doves want wings to fly:
The sun refuse to show his light,
And day shall then be turned to night;
And in that night no star appear,
Whene’er I leave my Celia dear.
Love shall no more inhabit Earth,
Nor lovers more shall love for worth;
Nor joy above in Heaven dwell,
Nor pain torment poor souls in hell:
Grim Death no more shall horrid prove,
Whene’er I leave bright Celia’s love.
-Thomas Carew
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14. |
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Bist du bei mir, geh ich mit Freuden
zum Sterben und zu meiner Ruh.
Ach, wie vergnügt wär so mein Ende,
es drückten deine schönen Hände
mir die getreuen Augen zu.
If you are with me, then I will go gladly
to death and to my rest.
Ah, what a delightful end for me,
if your lovely hands close my faithful eyes.
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On behalf of the Muses, our twelfth album, is a compilation of favorites and most-requested pieces that do not otherwise appear on our recorded programs. The collection includes several live recordings and some pieces that were performed for specific events. Our recorded program ranges from the mid fifteenth century "Vergine Bella" by DuFay, debuts our own unique setting of Shakespeare's "Come away death", includes our very first recording ever, "No more shall meads be deck’d with flow’rs", and ends with a live impromptu recording of “Bist du bei mir”, a favorite aria from the 1725 Anna Magdalena Bach notebook.
released February 18, 2019
Donna Stewart, voice; Ron Andrico, lute. All music arranged by Ron Andrico, Mignarda Editions
Jun 2022
Sep 2021
Apr 2021
Nov 2020
