MILAGROS DE NUESTRA SEÑORA
- PROLOGO 2-7
THE MIRACLES OF OUR LADE
- PROLOGUE 2-7
Gonzalo de Berceo trans. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Yo maestro Gonzalvo de Berçeo nonnado
Iendo en romeria caeçi en un prado
Verde e bien sençido,de flores bien poblado,
Logar cobdiçiaduero pora omne cansado.

Daban olor sobeio las flores bien olientes,
Refrescaban en omne las caras e las mientes,
Manaban cada canto fuentes claras corrientes
En verano bien frias, en yvierno calientes.

Avie hy grant abondo de buenas arboledas,
Milgranos e figueras, peros e manzanedas,
E muchas otras fructas de diversas monedas;
Mas non avie ningunas podridas nin açedas.

La verdura del prado, la olor de las flores,
Las sombras de los arboles de temprados sabores
Refrescaronme todo, e perdi los sudores:
Podrie vevir el omne con aquellos olores.

Nunca trobé en sieglo logar tan deleitoso,
Nin sombra tan temprada, nin olor tan sabroso,
Descargué mi ropiella por iaçer mas viçioso,
Poseme a la sombra de un arbor fermoso.

Yaçiendo a la sombra perdi todos cuidados,
Odi sonos de aves dulçes e modulados:
Nunca udieron omnes organos mas temprados,
Nin que formar pudiessen sones mas acordados.

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I, Gonzalo de Berceo, in the gentle summertide,
Wending upon a pilgrimage, came to a meadow's side;
All green was it and beautiful, with flowers far and wide, -
A pleasant spot, I ween, wherein the traveller might abide.

Flowers with the sweetest odors filled all the sunny air,
And not alone refreshed the sense, but stole the mind from every care;
On every side a fountain gushed, whose waters pure and fair,
Ice-cold beneath the summer sun, but warm in winter were.

There on the thick and shadowy trees, amid the foliage green,
Were the fig and the pomegranate, the pear and apple seen;
And other fruits of various kinds, the tufted leaves between,
None were unpleasant to the taste and none decayed, I ween.

The verdure of the meadow green, the odor of the flowers
The grateful shadows of the trees, tempered with fragrant showers,
Refreshed me in the burning heat of the sultry noontide hours;
Oh, one might live upon the balm and fragrance of those bowers!

Ne'er had I found on earth a spot that had such power to please,
Such shadows from the summer sun, such odors on the breeze;
I threw my mantle on the ground, that I might rest at ease,
And stretched upon the greensward lay in the shadow of the trees.

There soft reclining in the shade, all cares beside me flung,
I heard the soft and mellow notes that through the woodland rung;
Ear never listened to a strain, for instrument or tongue,
So mellow and harmonious as the songs above me sung.

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