I sang verses 1, 3, 6 + the end.

ATRESSI CO·L SIGNES FAI (Old Occitan) Peirol d'Auvernha (~1160 – 1225) 1 Atressi co·l signes fai Quant vol morir, chan, Quar sai que genseis morrai Et ab mens d'afan. Ben m'a amors tengut el latz E mainz trebaills n'ai sofertatz, Mas pel dan c'aora m'en ve Conosc qu'ancmais non amei be. 2 E doncs qual conseill penrai S'aissi muer aman Qu'ieu joi non aten de lai On miei sospir van! Pero non part ma voluntatz, Si tot n'estauc desesperatz. Pensiu e consiros mi te Cella de cui plus mi sove. 3 El mon tal domna non sai. Dieus, per que l'am tan Que ja non li ausarai Dire mon talan. Gen m'acuoill e·m fai bel solatz, Mais del plus son desconseillatz, Car, s'ieu li clamava merce, Tem que puois se guardes de me. 4 Preiars, lai on non s'eschai, Torn' en enuey gran. Ses parlar la preiarai. E com ab semblan, Et ill conosca o si·l platz. Car aissi dobla·l jois e·l gratz Quant us cors ab autre s'ave, E quant hom ses querre fai be. 5 Franquez' ab fin cor verai Trai amor enan! Autz paratges la deschai, Que.ll ric son truan, Que tan n'i a de rics malvatz Per que·l segles n'es sordeiatz. E domna, que bon pretz mante, Non am per ricor, s'als no i ve. 6 Chansoneta, vai t'en lai, Non ges q'ieu re·il man, Mas ben li potz mon esmai Dire ses mon dan. Digatz li c'a leis es donatz Mos coratges et autreiatz! Sieus son e sieus serai jase! Morir puosc per ma bona fe. Bona domna, on que siatz, Jois si' ab vos e joi aiatz, Qu'eu non vos aus clamar merce Mas sivals pensar o puosc be.

AS DOES THE SWAN (Literal translation by yours truly) 1 As does the swan When it's about to die, I sing, For I know I'll die more sweetly And with less pain. Love held me well in its snares And I suffered many torments, But from the pain I feel now I know that I never loved well. 2 So, what guidance will I take If I die of love, For I expect no joy from where My sighs go! Nevertheless, I never parted from my desire Even if I'm in despair. She keeps me pensive and worried, She whom I remember/(think of) most. 3 In the world I know no such dame/lady, God, why do I love her so? I'll never dare To tell her my desire. She receives me nicely and keeps me fine company But more is advised against, For, if I sought mercy of her, I fear that she would then be wary of me. 4 Prayers where one has no chance Become tiresome. Without speaking I'll plead her And how? With my look And she'll understand if it pleases her to. For joy and pleasure double When a heart agrees with another And when, without seeking it, one does good. 5 Frankness with true and fine heart Draw love forwards! High birth takes it down For nobles are villains, As there are so many rich scoundrels That the world is debased And a dame/lady who keeps her good worth Doesn't love for riches if she sees nothing else. 6 Little song, go away there, Not because I send her nothing, But you can well tell her my turmoil Without revealing my pain. Tell her that my heart is Granted and conceded to her. I'm hers and always will be hers! I can die because of my good faith! Good dame/lady, wherever you may be, Joy be with you and joy may you have; I do not dare to claim your mercy, But at least I can think of doing so.

You'll find a much finer translation penned by Dr Stanley Collin Aston from Cambridge University here (Peirol: Troubadour of Auvergne, S.C. Aston, MA PhD, Cambridge at The University Press, 1953)
Recording by Montjòia (1976)
Recording by La Camera delle Lacrime, Bruno Bonhoure
Rendition by Ensemble: Gérard Zuchetto, Troubadours Art at 12:48


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