1230 - 1292)
One of the last, if not the last, of the true Provencal troubadours, Guiraut survived the Albigensian Crusade and the wars that effectively destroyed the cultured society that had supported them.
One of the last, if not the last, of the true Provencal troubadours, Guiraut survived the Albigensian Crusade and the wars that effectively destroyed the cultured society that had supported them.
Troubador Verse
She was then Baronne de Posquieres, de Castries et de Montlaur, and became a patroness of troubadours.
Ai las e que-m fan mei uehls
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
Though summer renew and adorn
Itself with leaf and flower
Yet however I sing and mourn,
She, the lady of pleasure,
Cares not for my prayers forlorn,
I'll sing, I'll die a lover,
So loving her, dusk to dawn,
For little do I see her.
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
Although love cause me to sigh,
I'll not complain of a thing;
For the noblest, I choose to die,
Though evil for good may sting,
So long as she consents that I
Hope, mercy she yet may bring,
Whatever suffering I may buy,
I'll not claim for anything.
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
I die if her love she'll not give,
For I cannot see or dream
Where I can turn or how I'll live,
If she so distant seem,
No other could please I believe,
Nor make me forget, I deem;
Whatever the love I conceive
The more Love shall I esteem.
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
Ah, why does she treat me harshly?
She knows how it comforts me,
To sing, and praise one so worthy,
I'm hers, the more painfully
She exalts or abases me,
I can't prevent it, truly,
Far from her I'd not wish to be,
Though living death is my fee.
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
So I'll beg my sweet friend in song,
Please don't kill me, sinfully.
If she knows it to be a wrong
When I'm dead she'll grieve for me,
Yet I'd rather she brought death on,
Than live as her pleasure decree,
Worse than death not to see the one
Whom I love so tenderly.
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
Guiraut Riquier (c.
1230 - 1292)
One of the last, if not the last, of the true Provencal troubadours, Guiraut survived the Albigensian Crusade and the wars that effectively destroyed the cultured society that had supported them. He served Aimery IV, Viscount of Narbonne, as well as Alfonso el Sabio, King of Castile. He is also believed to have served Henry II, Count of Rodez. He made this somewhat ironic alba in 1257, a fitting coda to the troubadour era.
Ab plazen
From pleasant
Thoughts now and
Amorous,
Sufferings call
Despite all
Carefulness,
I sleep not though I tire,
So toss, and turn, and gyre,
And desire
To see the dawn.
From such gales
Pain assails
Day and night,
Joy now fails
So prevails
Sad heart's plight,
So at night fiercer fire
Consumes my mind entire,
And desire
To see the dawn.
Sad awake
Till daybreak
Watch I keep,
No pleasure
To lie there
Without sleep,
Joyless love deep in the mire;
So that with sighs I respire,
And desire
To see the dawn.
Bringing harm
Night wears on,
It would seem.
Such chagrin
I've not known
No sweet dream,
For I can't see her I admire,
Though to comfort her I aspire,
And desire
To see the dawn.
Ai las e que-m fan mei uehls
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
Though summer renew and adorn
Itself with leaf and flower
Yet however I sing and mourn,
She, the lady of pleasure,
Cares not for my prayers forlorn,
I'll sing, I'll die a lover,
So loving her, dusk to dawn,
For little do I see her.
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
Although love cause me to sigh,
I'll not complain of a thing;
For the noblest, I choose to die,
Though evil for good may sting,
So long as she consents that I
Hope, mercy she yet may bring,
Whatever suffering I may buy,
I'll not claim for anything.
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
I die if her love she'll not give,
For I cannot see or dream
Where I can turn or how I'll live,
If she so distant seem,
No other could please I believe,
Nor make me forget, I deem;
Whatever the love I conceive
The more Love shall I esteem.
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
Ah, why does she treat me harshly?
She knows how it comforts me,
To sing, and praise one so worthy,
I'm hers, the more painfully
She exalts or abases me,
I can't prevent it, truly,
Far from her I'd not wish to be,
Though living death is my fee.
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
So I'll beg my sweet friend in song,
Please don't kill me, sinfully.
If she knows it to be a wrong
When I'm dead she'll grieve for me,
Yet I'd rather she brought death on,
Than live as her pleasure decree,
Worse than death not to see the one
Whom I love so tenderly.
Alas, what use are my eyes
If they see not what I prize?
Guiraut Riquier (c.
1230 - 1292)
One of the last, if not the last, of the true Provencal troubadours, Guiraut survived the Albigensian Crusade and the wars that effectively destroyed the cultured society that had supported them. He served Aimery IV, Viscount of Narbonne, as well as Alfonso el Sabio, King of Castile. He is also believed to have served Henry II, Count of Rodez. He made this somewhat ironic alba in 1257, a fitting coda to the troubadour era.
Ab plazen
From pleasant
Thoughts now and
Amorous,
Sufferings call
Despite all
Carefulness,
I sleep not though I tire,
So toss, and turn, and gyre,
And desire
To see the dawn.
From such gales
Pain assails
Day and night,
Joy now fails
So prevails
Sad heart's plight,
So at night fiercer fire
Consumes my mind entire,
And desire
To see the dawn.
Sad awake
Till daybreak
Watch I keep,
No pleasure
To lie there
Without sleep,
Joyless love deep in the mire;
So that with sighs I respire,
And desire
To see the dawn.
Bringing harm
Night wears on,
It would seem.
Such chagrin
I've not known
No sweet dream,
For I can't see her I admire,
Though to comfort her I aspire,
And desire
To see the dawn.
