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  • Il Ruscello (The Water-Brook)

    Il Ruscello
    Canzoni Sacre Narrative
    The Water-Brook
    Songs of Sacred Story

    Stava drento alla capanna
    Maria, figlia di Sant' Anna,
    E, mirando 'l suo bel Sole,
    Li dicea queste parole:
    --Dormi, dormi, o cuor di mamma!
    Fai la ninna e fai la nanna!

    Dormi, figlio tenerello,
    Dormi, figlio vago e bello!
    Chiude, chiude i lumi santi,
    Le tue stelle fiammeggianti!
    Dormi, dormi, o cuor di mamma!
    Fai la ninna e fai la nanna!

    Non si accende 'l nostro fuoco,
    Noi viviamo in basso luoco.
    Io ti bacio le mascelle
    Bianche, fresche e tenerelle.
    Bacia, o figlio, la tua mamma!
    Non più ninna e non più nanna!

    Vedo su dall' Oriente
    Tre corone risplendente:1
    Porteranno per ristoro
    Mirra, incenso e un dono d'oro.
    Bacia, o figlio, la tua mamma!
    Non più ninna e non più nanna!


    Maria lavava,
    Giuseppe stendeva,
    Suo Figlio piangeva
    Dal freddo che aveva.
    --Sta zitto, mio figlio,
    Chè adesso ti piglio!
    Del latte t' ho dato,
    Del pane 'un ce n' è.--
    La neve sui monti
    Cadeva dal cielo:
    Maria col suo velo
    Copriva Gesù.


    --Dove vai, madre Maria,
    Sola sola per questa via?--
    --Vo cercando 'l mi' figliolo:
    È tre giorni che 'un lo trovo.--
    --Lo trovai da piedi al monte
    Colle man legate e giunte:
    Sulla spalla la croce avea;
    La portava, e non la potea:
    Sangue rosso lo versava,
    La Madonna l' asciugava.
    L' asciugava con gran dolore....
    Oggi e morto il Redentore!


    Mary, daughter of Saint Anne,
    Sitting in the Hut began
    Thus to her fair Sun to say
    While she watched Him as He lay:
    Heart of Mother, sleep, oh sleep!
    Rest Thee, Babe, and quiet keep.

    Sleep, O little tender Son,
    Sleep, O fair and lovely One!
    Close these holy lights of Thine,
    Thy two stars that softly shine!
    Heart of Mother, sleep, oh sleep!
    Rest Thee, Babe, and quiet keep!

    Not too well our fire doth go,
    We are in a place that's low.
    I must kiss Thy cheeks so oft,--
    Fair and white and fresh and soft,--
    Kiss Thy Mother, little Son,
    For Thy sleeping time is done.

    Coming from the East I see
    Three Crowns shining gloriously:
    To restore Thee they will hold
    Incense, myrrh, a gift of gold.
    Kiss Thy Mother, little Son!
    Now Thy sleeping time is done.


    Sweet Mary was washing,
    While Joseph laid, drying,
    The Baby was crying
    For the cold that came on.
    Oh hush thee, my darling,
    I'll take thee this moment,--
    Of milk I have given thee,
    Of bread there is none.
    The snow on the mountains
    From heaven was falling:
    Then Mary her veil took
    And covered her Son.


    Where, Mary, dost thou stray,
    All lone upon this way?--
    --I cannot find my Son:
    Three days I've searching gone.--
    --Him at the Mount I found,
    His hands were joined and bound;
    --The Cross His shoulders bore;
    He could not lift it more:
    --Red blood from Him did drop,
    His Mother dried it up.
    With anguish this she dried
    To-day the Saviour died.

    1 "Crowns," i.e., "Kings."

    Return to Folk Songs Page

    Additional Resources
    Famous Italians Folk Dances Folktales
    Folklore/Legends Proverbs/Proverbi Traditions

    Warrack, Grace. Florilegio di canti Toscani: Folk songs of the Tuscan hills. London: Alexander Moring Ltd., 1914. 224-227


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