Villanelle, H 82 (Hector Berlioz)

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  • (Posted 2008-07-10)  CPDL #17483:  Network.png
Editor: David Newman (submitted 2008-07-10).   Score information: Letter, 6 pages, 316 kB   Copyright: Public Domain
Edition notes: Cross posting by Art Song Central - An edition in G Minor and two in B Minor.

General Information

Title: Villanelle, Op. 7, No. 1
Composer: Hector Berlioz
Lyricist: Théophile Gautier (1811-1872)

Number of voices: 1v   Voicing: Soprano solo
Genre: SecularAria

Language: French
Instruments: Piano

First published:
Description: from Les nuits d’été, composed 1834.

External websites:

Original text and translations

French.png French text

Quand viendra la saison nouvelle,
Quand auront disparu les froids,
Tous le deux nous iront, ma belle,
Pour cuellir le muguet au bois.
Sous nos pieds égranant les perles
Que l’on voit au matin trembler,
Nous irons écouter les merles,
Nous irons écouter les merles

Le printemps est venu, ma belle,
C’est le mois des amants béni;
Et l’oiseau, satinant son aile,
Dit des vers au rebord du nid.
Oh! viens donc sur ce banc de mousse
Pour parler de nos beaux amours,
Et dis-moi de ta voix si douce,

Loin, bien loin, égarant nos courses,
Faisons fuir le lapin caché,
Et le daim, au miroir des sources,
Admirant son grand bois penché!
Puis chez nous, tout heureux, tout aises,
En paniers enlaçant nos doigts,
Revenons, rapportons des fraises
Des bois!

English.png English translation

by Isabella G. Parker
When shall come Spring's delightful weather,
When bleak Winter hath passed away,
Then, my love, we will go together,
Gath'ring lilies in the woodland gay.
Pearls of dew from our footsteps flinging,
Trembling bright in the morning ray,
Then will we hear the blackbirds singing,
Then will we hear the blackbirds singing,
All day!

Spring is come, O my love, so brightly;
'Tis the month for all lovers blest:
Birdling, poised on his wing so lightly,
Singeth songs by his downy nest.
Oh, come. On mossy bank reposing,
We will talk of our love today,
Thy gentle voice thy love disclosing:
Thy gentle voice thy love disclosing:

Far away through the wood we'll wander,
Fright the hare, hiding as we pass,
Where the deer sees his antlers yonder,
Mirrored fair in the Spring's clear glass;
Then alone in our sylvan pleasures,
Fingures twining, the while we roam,
We'll from the wood its fruity treasures,
We'll from the wood its fruity treasures
Bring home.

Another "Singable" version in English:
by Samuel Byrne

When verdant spring again approaches,
When winter's chills have disappeared,
Through the woods we shall stroll, my darling,
The fair primrose to cull at will.

The trembling bright pearls that are shining,
Each morning we shall brush aside;
We shall go to hear the gay thrushes

The flowers are abloom, my darling,
Of happy lovers 'tis the month;
And the bird his soft wing englossing,
Sings [carols sweet]1 within his nest.

Come with me on the mossy bank,
Where we'll talk of nothing else but love,
And whisper with thy voice so tender:

Far, far off let our footsteps wander,
Fright'ning the hiding hare away,
While the deer at the spring is gazing,
Admiring his reflected horns.

Then back home, with our hearts rejoicing,
And fondly our fingers entwined,
Lets return, let's return bringing fresh wild berries