Ecce amica mea (Maistre Jhan)
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CPDL #29906: Capella
- Editor: James Gibb (submitted 2013-08-21). Score information: A4, 8 pages, 85 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes: Reformating of #11017, with minor corrections, as noted on the discussion page.
- CPDL #11017: Capella
- Editor: Michael Wendel (submitted 2006-02-18). Score information: A4, 7 pages, 157 kB Copyright: Personal
- Edition notes: Copyright © Michael Wendel 2005, This edition may be freely duplicated, distributed, performed or recorded for non-profit performance or use.
- Possible error(s) identified. See the discussion page for full description.
General Information
Title: Ecce, amica mea
Composer: Cristóbal de Morales
Source of text: Song of Songs 2:8b-14, with minor alterations and insertions.
Number of voices: 4vv Voicing: SATB
Genre: Sacred, Motet
Language: Latin
Instruments: a cappella
Published: 1546
Description: No. 18 of 20 motets published in 1546 in Venice by Antonio Gardano. (facsimile from the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Munich (4° Mus.pr. 42/3)). A Song of Songs motet to the Virgin Mary.
External websites:
Original text and translations
Insertions in the Vulgate text are italicised.
Latin text Prima pars 8b venit saliens in montibus, transiliens colles. 9 Similis est dilecta mea capree hynuloque cervorum. En dilecta mea,formosa mea 10 En dilectus meus loquitur mihi: "Surge, amica mea, columba mea, formosa mea, 11 Iam enim hiems transiit, imber abiit et recessit. Columba mea, veni. 12 Flores apparuerunt in terra nostra, tempus putationis advenit; vox turturis audita est 13 ficus protulit grossos suos, vineae florentes dederunt odorem suum; surge, amica mea, 14 columba mea, in foraminibus petrae, in caverna maceriae. Ostende faciem tuam mihi, sonet vox tua in auribus meis; vox enim tua dulcis, et facies tua decora. |
English translation Prima pars 8b She cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping over the hills. 9 My beloved is like a roe, or a young hart. Behold my beloved, my beautiful one, 10 Behold my beloved speaketh to me: Arise, make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful one, 11 For winter is now past, the rain is over and gone. Come, my dove. 12 The flowers have appeared in our land, the time of pruning is come: the voice of the turtle is heard 13 The fig tree hath put forth her green figs: the vines in flower yield their sweet smell. Arise, my love, 14 My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hollow places of the wall, shew me thy face, let thy voice sound in my ears: for thy voice is sweet, and thy face comely. |