Diana of George of Montemayor Translated out of Spanish into English by Bartholomew Yong |
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[The faire, the fresh, the red and rosie morning] |
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 | Diana of George of Montemayor |  |
454
[The faire, the fresh, the red and rosie morning]
The
faire, the fresh, the red and rosie morning
Doth follow still the long and tedious night,
And after darknes comes the sunshine day,
When Nymphes goe foorth to walke the freshest meades,
The aire resounding with their sweetest songs,
And cheerefull notes of many chirping birdes.
Doth follow still the long and tedious night,
And after darknes comes the sunshine day,
When Nymphes goe foorth to walke the freshest meades,
The aire resounding with their sweetest songs,
And cheerefull notes of many chirping birdes.
I am lesse happy then the pretie birdes,
That are saluting of the merrie morning,
With ratling foorth their sugred notes and songs:
For in the morne I mourne, as in the night,
Be this a desart or most fragrant meade,
Be this a cloudie or most shining day.
That are saluting of the merrie morning,
With ratling foorth their sugred notes and songs:
For in the morne I mourne, as in the night,
Be this a desart or most fragrant meade,
Be this a cloudie or most shining day.
In such a haplesse hower, and dismall day
So dead I was, that neuer can these birdes,
Which in the dawning ioy both hill and meade,
Nor the Vermillion face of freshest morning
Driue from my soule a darke and deadly night,
Nor from my brest a lamentable song.
So dead I was, that neuer can these birdes,
Which in the dawning ioy both hill and meade,
Nor the Vermillion face of freshest morning
Driue from my soule a darke and deadly night,
Nor from my brest a lamentable song.
My voice shall neuer change her woonted song,
And for my selfe it neuer will be day:
But I will first die in eternall night,
Though more and more doe sing the warbling birdes,
And fairer rise the bright and purple morning,
To shine vpon, and cherish this faire meade.
And for my selfe it neuer will be day:
455
Though more and more doe sing the warbling birdes,
And fairer rise the bright and purple morning,
To shine vpon, and cherish this faire meade.
O irkesome garden! and O dolefull meade!
Since she, that cannot heare my plaining song,
And with her beames of beautie staines the morning,
Doth not giue light vnto my needefull day:
O trouble me no more you prating birdes,
For without her your morning is but night.
Since she, that cannot heare my plaining song,
And with her beames of beautie staines the morning,
Doth not giue light vnto my needefull day:
O trouble me no more you prating birdes,
For without her your morning is but night.
In that time of the still and silent night,
When in the townes, the hils, the vales, and meades,
All mortall men take rest, the beastes and birdes,
I most of all doe force my greeuous song,
Making my teares euen with the night, and day,
At noone, at night, and after in the morning.
When in the townes, the hils, the vales, and meades,
All mortall men take rest, the beastes and birdes,
I most of all doe force my greeuous song,
Making my teares euen with the night, and day,
At noone, at night, and after in the morning.
One Morning onely conquere must my Night,
And if one Day illustrate shall this Meade,
Then will I heare with ioy the Songs of Birdes.
And if one Day illustrate shall this Meade,
Then will I heare with ioy the Songs of Birdes.
| Diana of George of Montemayor | |