Bambino Divino (Traditional)

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• (Posted 2017-08-31)  CPDL #46147:       

Editor: Francesco Spiga (submitted 2017-08-31).   Score information: A4, 1 page, 128 kB   Copyright: Personal

Edition notes: Arranged by Francesco Spiga. The same setting as #46144, transposed down a fifth, for 3 voices male choir (tenor, baritone, bass).

• (Posted 2017-08-31)  CPDL #46144:       

Editor: Francesco Spiga (submitted 2017-08-31).   Score information: A4, 1 page, 128 kB   Copyright: Personal

Edition notes: Arranged by Francesco Spiga. Arranged for soprano, alto and tenor (or baritone).

General Information

Title: Bambino Divino
Composer: Anonymous (Traditional)
Lyricist: Anonymous

Number of voices: 3vv   Voicings: SAT, SAB, TTB or TBB
Genre: Sacred, Carol, Folksong   Meter: 66. 66

Language: Italian
Instruments: A cappella

First published:
Description: Ancient lauda of unknown origin.

Original text and translations

Italian text Bambino Divino Tra l'ombre apparì, Tra grotte di notte Più chiara del dì. Maria la pia Sul fieno posò Il nato portato, Che i Cieli creò. Nel gelo, col velo, Le membra coprì; E'l Figlio qual Giglio Tra spine vagì. Allora l'adora, E'l latte gli dà D'un Seno, ch'è pieno D'amor, e pietà. Gli canta la Santa Sua Madre così; E'l canto col pianto Degl'occhi s'unì. O raro, preclaro, Divino mio Re, Tra stenti pungenti Nascesti, perché? Almeno tu fieno Che pungi il mio ben, Con dure punture Impiaga il mio sen. O veli crudeli Non siate nò più: Tra nodi men sodi Stringete Gesù. O vita gradita di questo mio cor: O Prole mio Sole Dolcissimo Amor.

English translation The Divine Child Between the shadows appeared, In the caves, in a clearer night Than the day. The pious Mary Laid on the hay The child she carried, The Creator of the Skies. In the frost, with a veil, She covered his limbs; And the Son, like a Lily, Cried between the thorns. Then she adores Him And gives Him milk From her Breast, which is full Of love, and devotion. Sings to Him, His Saint Mother, these words; And her voice joined The tears from her eyes. O my rare, illustrious, Divine King, Thou were born between Stinging struggles. Why? Thou, at least, hay, Stinging my beloved, With hard punctures Hurt my breast. O veils, do not be Anymore cruel: Between less hard knots Hold Jesus. O life, dear To my heart. O Offspring, my Sun, Sweetest Love. Translation by Francesco Spiga