ODAODE
Francisco de la Torretrans. Brian Cole
Claras lumbres del cielo y ojos claros
del espantoso rostro de la noche,
corona clara y clara Casiopea,
Andrómeda y Perseo,

vos, con quien la divina Virgen, hija
del Rector del Olimpo inmenso, pasa
los espaciosos ratos de la vela
nocturna que le cabe,

escuchad vos mis quejas, que mi llanto
no es indicio de no rabiosa pena;
no vayan tan perdidas como siempre
tan bien perdidas lágrimas.

¡Cuántes veces me vistes y me vido
llorando Cintia, en mi cuidado el tibio
celo con que adoraba su belleza
un su pastor dormido!

¡Cuántas veces me halló la clara Aurora
espíritu doliente, que anda errando
por solitarios y desiertos valles,
llorando mi ventura!

¡Cuántas veces mirándome tan triste
la piedad de mi dolor la hizo
verter amargas y piadosas lágrimas
con que adornó las flores!

Vos, estrellas, también me vistes solo,
fiel compañero del silencio vuestro,
andar por la callada noche, lleno
de sospechosos males.

Vi la Circe cruel que me persigue,
de las hojas y flor de mi esperanza,
antes de tiempo y sin razón cortadas,
hacer encantos duros.

Cruda visión, donde la gloria, un tiempo
adorada por firme, cayó, y donde
peligró la esperanza de una vida
de fortuna invidiada.

¡Ay, déjenme los cielos, que la gloria,
que por fortuna y por su mano viene,
no será deseada eternamente
de mi afligido espiritu!
Bright lights of the heavens and bright eyes
in the dreadful face of the night,
bright crown and bright Cassiopeia,
Andromeda and Perseus,

you, with whom the divine Virgin, daughter
of the ruler of mighty Olympus, spends
the wide expansive hours of the night
watch that is her lot,

listen to my complaints, for these my tears
are clearly signs of no mild grief;
let them not be lost as always
tears once shed are lost.

How often have you seen me weeping,
as Cynthia too has seen me in my distress
for the lukewarm zeal with which her sleeping
shepherd adores her beauty!

How often did bright Aurora find me,
a grieving spirit, wandering
the rough, lonely, deserted vales
weeping for my painful fate!

How often when she saw me so sad
did her pity for my grief cause her
to shed bitter and piteous tears
with which she beautified the flowers!

You stars, you also saw me alone,
faithful companion of your silence,
walking through the quiet night,
full of evil suspicions.

I saw the cruel Circe who persecutes me,
brewing grim spells from the leaves and flowers
of my hope, well before its time
arbitrarily cut down.

Cruel vision in which the glory I once
adored for its firmness fell away,
and in which was endangered the hope of a life
envied by fortune itself.

Ay! Let me be, you heavens, for the glory,
that comes through good fortune and by her hand,
will not for ever be desired
by my afflicted spirit!

Transl. Copyright © Brian Cole, 2001


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