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Rémy BELLEAU ! (1528-1577)
The Cygalle
O that we consider you happy,
Sweet Cygal in love,
For as early as you have drunk
Dew a little
above the shrubs, as happy
as a powerful princess,
You make your sweet little sight
Tressaillir the monz and the woods.
Everything that the countryside brings,
everything that the mountain brings,
is of your own. To the laborer
You please above all else, for his labor
Neither offences nor damage
doors Neither to him nor to his labor.
Every man values your kindness,
Sweet Prophet of Summer.
The Muse loves you, and also loves you,
Apollo, who made you sing
softly. Old
age As we never hurt you,
O sage, o earthly daughter,
Love-songs, passionate
Who was not affectionate,
Free from all passion,
Without being of blood or flesh,
Almost like Jupiter.
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