prosody | miscellaneous |
Pois l'inverns d'ogan es anatz E·l douz temps floritz es vengutz, De moutas guisas pels plaissatz Aug lo refrim d'auzels menutz! Li prat vert e·il vergier espes M'ant si fait ab joi esbaudir, Per qu'ie·m sui de chant entremes. Totz lo segles es encombratz Per un albre que·i es nascutz, Autz e grans, brancutz e foillatz, Et a meravilla cregutz, Et a si tot lo mon perpres Que vas neguna part no·m vir, No·n veia dels rams dos o tres. Empero aissi es levatz, E vas totas partz espandutz Que lai d'outra·ls portz es passatz En Franss' et en Peitau vengutz! Qu'ieu sai qu'el es en tal defes, E dic ver, segon mon albir, Qu'en tenra sa verdor jasses. E per so s'es enrazigatz Car greu sera mais abatutz! Que la razitz es Malvestatz, Per que Jovens es confondutz, E tornatz en tal contrapes Per cels qui·l degran obezir, Que tant non cridon c'us l'ades. Meravill me de poestatz On a tans joves e canutz, Comtes e reis, et amiratz E princes en l'albre pendutz! Mas lo latz escarsetatz es Que lor fai si lo col flaquir C'us non esperetz ja·is mogues. Jovens fo ja bautz apellatz, Mas aras es si recrezutz Que jamais non er tant honratz Per que Jois li sia rendutz, C'Avoleza l'a si conques C'anc de pois no·n poc erebir Que·is parti de lui Dreitz ni Fes. Loncs temps a que no·l fo donatz Sai entre·ls baros mentaugutz! Faiditz es e loing issillatz! En lai on el es remasutz, Marcabrus li manda per mes Que no·il calia tant fugir, Que jamais, no, sai sera pres. Non puosc sofrir qu·als moilleratz Non diga lor forfaitz saubutz! Non sai la cals auctoritatz Lor mostra c'om los apel drutz! Semblan fant de l'ase cortes, C'ab son seignor cuidet bordir, Cant lo vic trepar ab sos ches. De tals sa·n vei enrazigatz, Los fols, e·ls savis deceubutz Per los acropitz penchenatz Que tot jorn demandon salutz, E demandon aco per ces! C'anc nuills francs hom non dec sofrir C'aitals gastaus fumos tengues. |
Since the Winter of this year is gone and the sweet flowery season has come, I hear, by the hedges, in many ways, the refrain of the small birds; the green meadows and the thick orchards have filled me with such joy that I have set my mind to singing. All the space in the World is taken by a tree that was born in it, high and large, branching, leafy and grown so wondrously; and it has taken over everything, so that, wherever I may turn, I see two or three of its branches. But it is so lofty and spread to all sides that, from there, beyond the ports, it has crossed into France and come to Peitau; and I know it is in such an enclosure, and I tell the truth, according to my knowledge, that it will remain green forever. And it is so rooted that it will hardly ever be felled. For its root is Wickedness, by which Youth is confounded and finds such opposition, from those who should obey it, that they don't even cry out for someone to come rescue it. I wonder about the powerful: there are many, young and hoary, earls and kings and admirals and princes, hanging from the tree; but the noose is Stinginess, which makes their neck so flaccid that not one of them can hope to budge. Youth was once called bold, but it is now so degenerated that it will never be honoured enough for Joy to be returned to it, because Cowardice conquered it so that it has never been able to deliver itself since Right and Faith have left it. For a long time, nothing has been given to it, here, by the known barons! It is dispossessed and exiled far away! And, where it took refuge, Marcabru tells it by messenger that it did not need to flee so far, for it will never be caught here. I cannot help but tell the married men about their known infamy: I do not know which authority shows them that they are called lovers! They look like the courteous donkey who wanted to frolic with its master when he had seen it playing with his dogs. I see, here, rooted people, fools and wise men alike, deceived by neatly combed crooks; these ask, every day, for greetings and demand a fee on that! And never would an honest man suffer to maintain such perfumed stewards. |