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: The same setting as #46144, transposed down a fifth, for 3 voices male choir (tenor, baritone, bass).

Arranger: Francesco Spiga

• (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 for soprano, alto and tenor (or baritone).

Arranger: Francesco Spiga

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.

External websites:

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