No More Learning

Yet the pain's no less than I used to know.

For a true man must endure, it's natural,

Rights and wrongs, both sense and folly:

Though it's hard to achieve a victory

When he's banished from his own hall!

I'm in exile if I should leave my lover:

I'll not: for I love her more than ever.

If I renounced her love, she'd scorn me:

She ought not, for love it is adorns me.

I'm utterly in my lady's power,

If she does me ill I can do nothing,

Her pleasure, to me, is so sweet and thing,

I forget myself, my cares, the hour.

Never a day but love drowns my heart,

Since arrows of joy from her eyes dart.

And when my heart thinks of its great good,

I want none else in this world, nor should.

Do you know why my love is so sincere?

I've seen none so noble, of such beauty,

Or so fine, who grants me such bounty,

For so worthy a friend she does appear,

And if I'd her naked at last beside me,

I'd be more than the lord of Excideuil,

Who maintains his worth where others fail,

For none but Geoffrey could so prevail.

It goes ill with the four kings of Spain,

Since they fight rather than make peace,

Do that, and their worth could but increase:

Free, loyal, courteous, they speak plain,

Yet their fame might be even greater

If they aimed their war against another,

That fierce foe that denies our law,

Until Spain owns to one faith once more.

Bels Castiat, lord, I'm sad, you'll gather.

I see you not: she sees me no more,

Na Vierna, who is all my faith and law.

Now I'll give the ancient saying here:

Whoever starts well then lets things fall,

Had better not start such things at all.

Notes: The Lord of Excideuil is Richard Coeur-de-Lion. Geoffrey is his brother, Count of Brittany.
Castiatz is possibly Raimond V, Count of Toulouse (1148-1194)

Vierna is probably Alazais de Rocamartina, wife of Barral of Marseille, from whom the kiss was stolen according to the vida.

The four kings of Spain are those of Aragon, Castille, Leon and Navarre.

Estat ai gran sazo

I've felt, for so long, so

Bitter, and known such pain,

But now I feel joy again,

More than carp or swallow,

For my lady tells me

Now again she'll take me,

Once more, as her lover.

Ah! How sweet the hour

When she deigned to will

I might enjoy hope still.

May God pardon me though,

My joy I can't regain,

Lest swiftly once again,

To that prison I go,

Where her beauty holds me,

There is all courtesy

There it's joyous and sweet;

Which is why I'm replete

Without earthly treasure,

Should I bring her pleasure.

How great my pleasure too,

When I can see her face;

I cease to know the place,

Her love-filled eyes in view;

I'm tangled then, and won,

Conquered and so undone,

Can't turn my eyes away,

Nor ever from her stray,

And when I can see her

All is joy for me there.

Lady, by God above,

Since I am yours wholly,

Willingly and humbly,

Grant me of your love,

Your mercy, and pity,

Your prayers, and loyalty,

And do yourself honour:

For I'm burdened by fear,

That I might not aspire

To one whom I desire.

And my heart's rancorous

Towards one who is evil,

Who sends me to the devil,

She, with her Count Rufous,

She's a wolf all over,

Now a count's her lover

Her emperor's on his way,

Who sang her praise all day,

Through the whole world too:

But liars never speak true.

God save the Marquis,

His lovely sister, save,

Her loyal love and brave,

It conquers me anew,

Better still holds me too.

King's daughter, be it so,

A false love fled away

I've a better one today,

Who knows my worth, and who

Does and says things sweet and true.

Notes: The 'wolf' is Loba de Penautier. The vida claims that Vidal called himself Lop because of her and carried the badge of the wolf. He was hunted with dogs in the mountains of Cabaret, and wore a wolfskin to give the scent to the dogs and masters. He was hunted down, beaten and carried half-dead to Loba and her husband who laughed at his folly.

The Count, her lover, was probably Roger of Foix (1188-1223).