Lo rossinholet salvatge
ai auzit que s’esbaudeia
per amor en son lengatge,
em fai si morir d’enveia,
car leis cui dezir
no vei ni remir,
e nol volgr’ogan auzir.
Pero pel dous chan
qu’el e sa par fan,
esfortz un pauc mon coratge,
em vau conortan
mon cor en chantan,
so qu’eu no cuidiei far ogan.

Empero nul alegratge
nom don’al cor res qu’eu veia,
per qu’eu conosc mon folatge.
Ben es dreitz qu’aissim n’esteia
e deu m’avenir,
car per fol consir
laissei mon cor a jauzir;
don sui en afan
e n’ai ir’e dan
e conosc en mon coratge
qu’ai perdut est an,
qu’anc non aic joi gran
ni re quem vengues a talan.

E sitot planh mon damnatge,
mos cors aclin’e sopleia
vas leis que a senhoratge
en mi, e tanh qu’esser deia,
qu’anc nom poc plus dir,
quan venc al partir,
mas sa caralh vi cobrir,
em dis sospiran:
«A Deu vos coman!»
E quan pens en mon coratge
l’amoros semblan,
a pauc en ploran
no m’auci car nolh sui denan.

Midons que te mon cor gatge
prec, si com cel que merceia,
que no m’aia cor volatge,
ni fals lauzengiers no creia
de mi, ni s’albir
qu’eu vas autram vir,
que per bona fe sospir
e l’am ses enjan,
e ses cor truan;
qu’eu non ai ges tel coratge
com li fals drut an
que van galian
per qu’amors torna en soan.

Anc no falsei mon viatge
vas leis cui mos cors s’autreia,
pos l’aigui fait homenatge,
e non ai cor quem recreia
ja del seu servir.
Cui qu’enoi ni tir
seus sui e nom posc giquir
de leis tan ni quan,
qu’autra no deman,
ni non es en mon coratge
res qu’eu volha tan;
per que la reblan,
mas mas jontas, humilian.

Chansos, de te fatz messatge,
e vai ades e despleia
lai on jois a son estatge,
a midons que tan mi greia;
e pos l’aitan dir
qu’eu mor de desir.
E s’ilh te denha acolhir,
vai li remembran—
e no t’ans tarzan—
lo consirier el coratge,
e l’amor tan gran
don mor deziran,
car no la remir en baizan.

Na Maria, tan
avetz de pretz gran,
per que son tuit d’agradatge
mei dich e mei chan
per la lauzor gran
que eu dic de vos en chantan.

Gaucelm Faidit (c1150-c1220)

I have heard the wild nightingale
rejoicing with love
in its own language.
And it makes me die of envy
for I can neither see nor gaze upon
the one whom I desire,
nor has she wanted to hear me this year.
But because of the sweet singing
of the nightingale and his mate,
my spirits are encouraged a little.
And thus I comfort
my heart by singing,
something I didn’t expect to do this year.

Yet, nothing which I see
brings my heart any happiness,
because I know my own folly.
And it’s right that I feel thus.
I have deserved it,
for I allowed my heart
to enjoy a foolish thought,
for which I now suffer
and have had grief and anguish,
knowing in my mind
what I have lost this year.
For I never experienced great joy
nor anything which I desired.

And although I lament my misfortune,
my heart leans in supplication
towards her who rules in me.
And it’s right that it should be so.
For at our parting she
could say no more to me,
but I saw her cover her face,
and, sighing, she said to me:
‘I commend you to God’.
And when I remember in my mind
her lovely, loving face,
I almost die of weeping,
for I am no longer in her presence.

Like a supplicant, I beg of my lady,
to whom I have pledged my heart,
not to have a fickle heart towards me,
nor to believe what false rumour-mongerers say
of me, nor to think
that I am inclined towards any other woman,
because I sigh in good faith
and I love her without deceit
and without a vile heart.
For in no way do I have the mindset
of those false lovers
who seduce deceitfully,
causing love to have a bad name.

Never have I turned aside from my path
towards her to whom I surrendered my heart,
since I rendered her homage.
And I have no intention
of ever leaving her service.
Suffer who may,
I am hers, and cannot leave her,
never ever,
for I do not want any other,
nor is there in my mind
anything which I want so much.
Therefore I serve her
humbly, with my hands together.

Song!—I make you my messenger.
Go now quickly to the place where joy dwells,
and explain to my lady
that she tortures me so much.
And you can even tell her
that I am dying of desire;
And if she deigns to receive you,
remind her—
and do not delay—
of the sorrow, longing
and such great love
of which I die, desiring,
because I am not able to gaze on her or kiss her.

Lady Maria, so great
is your merit,
that all my words and singing
sound worthy and decorous,
because of the great praise
which I speak of you as I sing.