GONGORA Y ARGOTE, Luis de
Por las estrellas
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tiempo, donde estás, miro que con ellas vas, pero no vuelves con ellas. ¿Adonde imprimes tus huellas que con tu curso no doy? Mas, ay, qué engañado estoy, que vuelas, corres y ruedas; tú eres, tiempo, el que te quedas,
y yo soy el que me voy.
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Time, where are you? I see that you go with them, but you don’t return with them. Where do you imprint your footprints Since I can’t find them along your orbit? But, o, how I deceived I am, that you fly, run and roll; you are, Time, the one who stays,
and I’m the one who’s leaving.
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To A White Poplar Grove / Gallardas plantas, que con voz doliente
Graceful trees, that with living voice
Sorrowfully mourned daring Phaeton,
And now without envy of palm or olive
Might wreathe many a corpse’s brow,
So that, from summer Sun’s burning rays,
The pale chorus of lascivious Naiads
May seek your fleeting shadows more
Than the green margin of the hidden spring,
So that (despite the scorching season)
The rushing river’s swift flow might kiss
Your roots (that once were human feet),
Mourn (since mad enterprises and vain
Ardours turn to you alone to mourn)
My ardour in love; my mad enterprise.
The white lilies, children of the Sun / Los blancos lilios que de ciento en ciento
The white lilies, children of the Sun,
That Spring grants us from age to age,
For whom on the banks of the Tagus
Gold’s the cradle, pearls the nourishment;
The fresh roses, the wind ambitiously
Solicits with its flattering breeze,
Like one who hopes for noble petals
From some leaf or other, with lascivious breath;
Fall to your lovely feet, as all their beauty
So must. What might the hand that bears
Those flowers not do, if the foot does so,
Since your very splendour conquers snow,
Conquers the light of dawn, and since
In vain, for you, they breathe their scent?
To The Court Ladies asking Favour towards Andalusian Gallants / Hermosas damas, si la pasión ciega
Beautiful ladies, if blind passion
Fails to fill you with disdain or anger,
Which shall view Andalusians without pity,
Which deny Andalusians her favour?
In all this earth, who begs more humbly,
Adores more truly, sighs more idolatrously?
Who tilts more gloriously in the square,
Slays the bulls, or plays on the reed?
In soirées, who draw most frequently
The sweetest eyes in all the salons,
If not the gallants from Andalusia?
Ladies judge them ever pre-eminent,
In the court, first among all for finery,
In the tournament, the first for valour.
A Lady’s Tears and Sighs / Cual parece al romper de la mañana
What seems to break from the morning,
Those white seed pearls on fresh roses,
Or those with artifice, sewn by hand,
Pearls embroidered on scarlet cloth,
Such seemed the beautiful tears
Shed by my sovereign shepherdess,
Over those miraculous cheeks,
Manna of blood and milk mingled.
Yield, in turn, among those tender tears,
An ardent sigh from out your breast,
Such as the harshest song might engender,
If a harsh song were enough to do so,
And witness what is done to a heart,
Which is wax to every tear and sigh.
Al tramontar del Sol, la ninfa mía / When, at the rising of the sun, my nymph
When, at the rising of the sun, my nymph
Despoils the verdant field of flowers,
As many spring beneath her white feet
As she has gathered with lovely hand.
Wavelike is the breeze that flows
With fine gold, in illusory elegance,
Stirs the green leaves of dense poplars,
With the red light of breaking dawn.
But when she wreathes her lovely brow
With the various spoils in her dress
(Putting an end to gold and snow)
I swear her garland shines far brighter
Than flowers, and seems more star-like,
Formed of the nine orbs that light the sky.
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oro bruñido al sol relumbra en vano;
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The sun lights burnished gold in vain, While scornfully, in the open plain, Your white brow confronts the lovely lily,
More eyes are drawn than to fresh carnations, And while your noble throat, with new Disdain, triumphs over shining crystal;
Before that which in your golden years Is gold, carnation, lily, shining crystal,
But you and all of these together turn To earth, smoke, dust, shadow, nothing.
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De honor, de majestad, de gallardía! ¡Oh gran río, gran rey de Andalucía, De arenas nobles, ya que no doradas!
Que privilegia el cielo y dora el día! ¡Oh siempre glorïosa patria mía, Tanto por plumas cuanto por espadas!
Que enriquece Genil y Dauro baña Tu memoria no fue alimento mío,
Ver tu muro, tus torres y tu río,
Tu llano y sierra, ¡oh patria, oh flor de España!
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With all honour, majesty, and valour! Oh, great river, mighty king of Andalusia, With fine sands, though as yet no gold!
Gracing the heavens, gilding the day! Oh, my homeland, forever winning glory, As much for its quills as for its swords!
That Genil enriches, Darro bathes, Thoughts of you are not my nourishment
To see your walls, your river and your towers,
Your plain and hills, my land, oh flower of Spain!
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