Peilegrino Mutij - "Mentre Che Febo"

From a concert of music from the Papal Courts of 17th century Rome on May 12, 2011. [Missing first few seconds of recording.]

Elise Groves and Clare McNamara, sopranos
Emily Davidson, cello
Emma Gavenda, harpsichord

Mentre che Febo con suoi raggi d'oro,
Da mezzo giorno, e quand' arde la terra,
Vann' i lieti pastor col greg'amato,
Al font'all'ombr'al prato
Chi fa ghirlandette di fiori, ed'herbette,
Chi canta d'amore, chi ama il suo core,
Chi bram'e desia lodar Filli mia,
Altri pieni d'ardor, e di desio,
Va notando per l'onda del rio.

Quando l'aurora con ruggiade, e fiori,
La terra ingemma, de' piu bei colori,
Cantan ninfe d'amor dolci parole,
All'aura all'alba al sole
Chi terge la fronte nel lucido fonte,
Chi toglie da' prati, i fiori odorati,
Chi lod'il bel volto che l'alma m'ha tolto,
Io con nobile suon, di cetra d'oro.
Vo cantando la ninfa ch'adoro.

Mentre la notte tra dolc'ombr'amate,
Scopre la pompa, delle stelle aurate,
Lascian lieti pastor all'aer fosco,
Il prato il fonte il bosco.
Chi tragge dal petto dolcezza, e diletto,
Chi sfog'il tormento con dolce concento
Io sol allo splendor, di chiare stelle,
Vo cantando le fiamme novelle.

While Phoebus with his golden rays
at mid-day burns the earth,
The happy shepherd and his beloved flock go
To the spring, to the shade, to the meadow
Someone makes garlands of flowers and herbs,
Someone sings of love, who loves his beloved,
Someone yearns for and desires to praise my Phyllis,
Someone else full of passion, and of desire,
Is observed by the river's wave.

When Dawn bejewels the earth with dew and flowers of
the most beautiful colors,
Nymphs sing sweet words of love,
To the breeze, to the daybreak, to the sun.
Someone wipes his brow in the clear spring,
Someone picks the fragrant flowers from the meadows,
Someone praises the beautiful face that stole my soul,
I, with the noble sound of the golden lyre,
Go singing to the nymph that I adore.

While the Night, among sweet shadows of love,
Discovers the splendor of the stars' golden arrows,
Leaving the happy shepherds to the dark,
The meadow, the spring, the forest.
Someone who breathes sweetness and delight,
Someone drives away troubles with sweet harmony,
I alone, in the splendor of the bright stars,
Go singing of these new flames.

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Category:

Music

Tags:

• classical music
• early music
• singers
• cello
• harpsichord
• baroque
• voice
• baroque music