L'amour piqué par une abeille (cantata by Clérambault)

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  • Опубликовано: 1 окт 2024
  • L'amour piqué par une abeille (Love Stung by a Bee) by Louis-Nicolas Clérambault
    Emma Horwood - soprano
    Anne Whelan - harpsichord
    Recorded live in concert on October 16th, 2022
    North Adelaide Baptist Church, Adelaide, South Australia
    Thank you for watching and please subscribe!
    To learn more about Emma and her albums, visit: www.emmahorwood.com.au
    In the enchanted gardens of Kythira,
    Venus assembles the Cherubs;
    Cold indifference and harsh reason
    are eternally banished from this lovely place
    A thousand fortunate lovers driven by faithfulness
    receive here the reward of their offered vows
    And here, all feel the presence
    of a charming god who adores the universe.
    Under the rule of young Flora,
    an eternal springtime binds the zephyrs
    And the flowers which are seen blooming
    are the work of their sighs.
    The amorous streams mix their soft murmurs
    with the concerts of birds who sing night and day
    The Sun gives off a brilliance more pure
    than the fires he borrowed from Cupid.
    While the Cherubs in these scattered gardens
    harvest the brilliant richness of spring,
    A nascent rose
    catches the attention of tender Cupid.
    "Nothing is as beautiful as you", he says, "in this grove,"
    "Young rose full of charm;
    If other flowers are born in these climates,
    It would be to give you sweet homage."
    To your glory all conspire,
    To be the ornament of springtime:
    Form, in the amorous empire,
    The chains of happy lovers.
    Adorn the immortal Graces
    Who follow the Mother of Cupid
    Give back to beauty, as it fairly deserves,
    Even more new weapons
    Cupid, charmed, gives in to his pressing desire
    to pluck a beautiful flower,
    But at the same time a cruel bee
    dares to injure the charming god;
    “I die, I succumb to my mortal suffering,”
    says Cupid, sighing to Venus.
    Venus smiles at his bitter pain,
    She soon heals his mild injury;
    And by these words appeases his torment.
    Charming vanquisher, you expose us
    to pains a hundred times more pressing;
    By the pains that you feel,
    Judge the harms which you cause us.
    Your arrows, powerful god of love,
    Cause pains to feel more cruel
    They bring a thousand deadly stings to the heart
    Which you do not always cure.

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