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Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.
Hyperion offers both CDs, and downloads in a number of formats. The site is also available in several languages.
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La doce pensee
Ki me vient d’Amors
M’est el cuer entree
Tos jors, sans retor;
Tant l’ai desiree,
La doce dolor,
Ke riens ki soit nee
Ne m’a tel savor.
Doce dame, ainc ne vos dis nul jor
Ma grant dolor, ains l’ai tos jors celee.
Mort m’ont mi oel, ki m’ont mis en esror
Dont la paine n’ert ja jor achievee;
Je lor pardoins, car tant m’ont fait d’onor
Ke la millor del mont en ai amee.
Qui voit sa crine bloie
Ki samble ke soit d’or,
Et son col ki blançoie
Deseur som bel chief sor!
C’est ma dame, ma joie,
Et mon rice tresor;
Certes, je ne vauroie
Sans li valoir Hector.
De si belle dame amer
Ne se porroit nus desfendre;
Puis k’Amors m’i fait penser
El m’i devroit bien aprendre
Coment porroie achiever
Puis k’aillors ne puis entendre.
Se je li disoie
Ke s’amors fust moie,
Grant orguell feroie
Nis se le pensoie.
Ains sosferrai mon martire,
Ja ne savra mon pensé
Se par pitié ne remire
Les maus [que me fait porter];
Car tant redoc l’escondire
De sa tres grant volenté;
Tel cose porroie dire
Dont el me saroit mal gré.
La ou Diex a assamblé
Pris et valor et bonté,
T’en va, descors, sans plus dire,
Fors itant, pour l’amor Dé,
C’om puet bien par toi eslire
Ke je ne chant fors por lé
Dont Diex me doinst estre amé.
Gautier de Dargies (c1165-after 1236)
For ever, without renunciation,
the sweet thought
which comes to me from Love
has entered my heart;
I have desired it so much,
the sweet suffering,
that no creature born
has such a delight for me.
Sweet lady, I have never told you
my great pain, but rather I have always concealed it.
My eyes have killed me, for they have put me
into a state of perplexity which brings a pain that can never end;
I forgive them, for it is a great honour to me
that I have fallen in love with the best in the world.
If you could but see her blonde hair
which looks like gold,
and her white neck
underneath her radiant head!
That is my lady, my joy
and my rich treasure;
certainly, without her
I would not wish to be as brave as Hector.
No man can guard himself
against loving such a beautiful lady;
since Love makes me think of it,
Love should teach me well
how I may attain it,
since I have no other aim.
It would be overweeningly proud
of me if I asked her
to grant me her love,
or even thought of doing so.
But instead I shall endure my suffering,
for she will never know my thought
unless she looks compassionately
upon the ills which she makes me bear;
for I greatly fear that her exalted wish
may go against me;
I might say something
which she would hold against me.
Betake yourself, descort,
to where God has assembled valour,
worth and virtue, without saying any more
save that, for the love of God,
one may well discern through you
that I sing for none except her,
by whom God grant I be loved.