Written and recorded February 4, 2023 (please see notes after the lyrics for more information).

The Lark (Aube)

My clandestine love and I
In a fair wood near Béthune
We played all of Tuesday night
In the blue light of the moon
Till the dawn conquered the dark
And too soon we heard the lark 
I said, "My love, we have to go"
And he smiled and said, "Please, no…”

It is not nearly day
My lovely, dear, sweet heart
Let us not entertain
The cruel lies of that lark

Then he drew me in so near
And we cuddled without fear
He kissed me heartily thrice
I kissed him at least twice
His soft caress did not annoy
How we'd have loved to stretch our joy
That night to last at least an age
With no further need to say 

It is not nearly day
My lovely, dear, sweet heart
Let us not entertain
The cruel lies of that lark


This is a new poetic translation of a trouvère song (trouvères were Northern French songwriters and performers in the 12th and 13th centuries). It is uncredited, but believed to have been written by a woman. This particular type of song is called an "aube." Aubes are songs about clandestine love affairs during the night, during which the lovers dread the coming of dawn, when they must part as if nothing has happened.

Some pieces have surviving music - this one does not. My translation is not completely literal - I kept what I could, but I wanted to also follow the rhyme pattern and have a similar (or at least acceptable) number of syllables in each line. I used the original text along with a literal, line-by-line translation to craft my version. I got the text and literal translation from Songs of the Women Trouvères, edited and translated by Eglal Doss-Quinby, Joan Tasker Grimbert, Wendy Pfeffer, and Elizabeth Aubrey. 

Here is the original text (author unknown):

Entre moi et mon amin,
En un boix k'est leis Bethune,
Alainmes juwant mairdi 
Tout la nuit a la lune,
Tant k'il ajornait
Et ke l'alowe chantait
Ke dit: "Amins alons an."
Et il respont doucement:

Il n'est mie jours,
Saverouze au cors gent;
Si m'aït Amors,
L'alowette nos mant.

Adont se trait pres de mi,
Et je ne fu pas anfruine;
Bien trois fois me baixait il,
Ausi fix je lui plus d'une,
K'ainz ne m'anoiait.
Adonc vocexiens nous lai 
Ke celle neut durest sant,
Mais ke plus n'alest dixant:

Il n'est mie jours,
Saverouze au cors gent;
Si m'aït Amors,
L'alowette nos mant.

New tracks tagged #medieval_text_adaptation