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RINALDO D'AQUINO. Secolo XIII

G

IÀ mai non mi conforto, Inè mi voglio rallegrare: le navi son giunte al porto e vogliono colare. Vassene lo più gente in terra d' oltre mare : oi me, lassa dolente,

e como degio fare?

Vassene in altra contrata e no lo mi manda a dire, ed io rimagno ingannata, tanti sono li sospire

che mi fanno gran guerra la notte co' la dia;

nè 'n cielo ned in terra, non mi pare ch' io sia.

Santus, santus, santus Deo

qui in Vergine venisti,
salva e guarda l' amor meo
poi da me lo dipartisti :
oi alta potestade,
temuta e dottata,

il dolze mi' amistade
ti sia raccomandata !

La croce salva la gente

e me face disviare ;

la croce mi fa dolente,

e non mi val Dio pregare.
Oi croce pellegrina,
perchè m' hai sì distrutta?
oi me, lassa tapina!

ch' i' ardo e 'ncendo tutta!

RINALDO D'AQUINO. XIIIth Century

Ο

COMFORT doth avail me nought,

For mirth I am not fain :

The ships now gathered into port
Will hoist their sails again.
Full many a wight afar will go
To lands beyond the sea:
Alas, so deeply versed in woe,
What will become of me?

To other countries they are borne Yet tell me not a word,

So I remain behind forlorn,

The while my sighs are heard

Tormenting me all through the night,
Tormenting me by day;

Nor heaven nor earth I see aright,
I know not where I stray.

O holy, holy God, O Thou
Who art the Virgin's own,

Do Thou protect my love since now I have been left alone:

O high and mighty potentate,

O God of awe and fear,
I pray Thee be compassionate
Towards my love so dear!

The cross that saveth everyone
Doth lead me from the way;
The cross for me hath sorrow won,
In vain to God I pray.

O pilgrim cross, why hast thou, say,
Brought me to such a plight?

I burn, I am consumed away,
Most miserable wight!

Lo 'mperadore con pace tutto lo mondo mantene ; ed a me guerra face

chè m' à tolta mia spene.
Oi alta potestade,
temuta e dottata,

lo mio dolze amistate
vi sia raccomandata !

Quando la croce pigliao certo no lo pensai quelli che tanto m' amao ed i' lui tanto amai, ch' i' ne fuie battuta e messa in pregionia e 'n celato tenuta per la vita mia.

Le navi so' a le colle

in bon' ora possan andare, e lo mio amore co' 'lle

e la gente che v' ha andare ; o Padre criatore,

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The Emperor doth with his peace
The whole wide world sustain ;
But unto me doth war increase
Because my hope is ta'en.
O high and mighty potentate,
O God of awe and fear,
I pray Thee be compassionate
Towards my love so dear!

O certes then I did not know,
When he the cross was fain

To clasp, he who did love me so
And whom I loved again,

That it would deal a blow so sore
And hold me captive fast
In prison-close for evermore
Until my life were past.

The ships at anchor lie, but soon

To sea they will put out,

And with them will depart my boon
And other folk no doubt;

O Father, Who createst all,

Bring them to port again

Who serve Thy holy cross withal

And thereto are right fain!

But, sweet, since thou dost understand

My sorrow, fashion, pray,

A sonnet, to the Syrian land

Then let it find its way,

Because henceforward rest to me
Nor day nor night doth bring,
In lands that lie beyond the sea
My life makes tarrying!

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aiutami, che sai ch' i' son tuo servo, amore.

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chè l' om morto non torna per far poi cantar messa.

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