Samuel Taylor Coleridge -This time-tree bower my prison- |
Saturday, March 11, 2006 |
This time-tree bower my prison Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 -1834 )
Addressed to Charles Lamb of the India House, London
Well, they are gone, and here must I remain, This lime-tree bower my prison ! I have lost Beauties and feelings, such as would have been Most sweet to my remembrance even when age Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness ! They, meanwhile, Friends, whom I never more may meet again, On springy heath, along the hill-top edge, Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance, To that still roaring dell, of which I told ; The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep, And only speckled by the mid-day sun ; Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rock Flings arching like a bridge ;--that branchless ash, Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still, Fann'd by the water-fall ! and there my friends Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds, That all at once (a most fantastic sight !) Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge Of the blue clay-stone.
Now, my friends emerge Beneath the wide wide Heaven--and view again The many-steepled tract magnificent Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea, With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light up The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles Of purple shadow ! Yes ! they wander on In gladness all ; but thou, methinks, most glad, My gentle-hearted Charles ! for thou hast pined And hunger'd after Nature, many a year, In the great City pent, winning thy way With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain And strange calamity ! Ah ! slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun ! Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb, Ye purple heath-flowers ! richlier burn, ye clouds ! Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves ! And kindle, thou blue Ocean ! So my friend Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood, Silent with swimming sense ; yea, gazing round On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem Less gross than bodily ; and of such hues As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makes Spirits perceive his presence.
A delight Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad As I myself were there ! Nor in this bower, This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark'd Much that has sooth'd me. Pale beneath the blaze Hung the transparent foliage ; and I watch'd Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov'd to see The shadow of the leaf and stem above Dappling its sunshine ! And that walnut-tree Was richly ting'd, and a deep radiance lay Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue Through the late twilight : and though now the bat Wheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters, Yet still the solitary humble-bee Sings in the be an-flower ! Henceforth I shall know That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure ; No plot so narrow, be but Nature there, No waste so vacant, but may well employ Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart Awake to Love and Beauty ! and sometimes 'Tis well to be bereft of promis'd good, That we may lift the soul, and contemplate With lively joy the joys we cannot share. My gentle-hearted Charles ! when the last rook Beat its straight path across the dusky air Homewards, I blest it ! deeming its black wing (Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light) Had cross'd the mighty Orb's dilated glory, While thou stood'st gazing ; or, when all was still, Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a charm For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom No sound is dissonant which tells of Life.
La sombra de este tilo, mi cárcel
A Charles Lamb, de la Casa de la India, Londres
Ya se han ido y aquí debo quedarme, a la sombra del tilo que es mi cárcel. Afectos y bellezas he perdido que serán intensos recuerdos cuando la edad ciegue mis ojos. Mientras tanto mis amigos, que acaso nunca encuentre de nuevo por los campos y colinas, se pasean alegres, tal vez llegan a ese valle boscoso, estrecho y hondo del que yo les hablé y que sólo alcanza el sol del mediodía; o a ese tronco que se arquea entre rocas como un puente y ampara al fresno sin ramas y oscuro cuyas escasas hojas amarillas no agita la tormenta pero airea la cascada. Y allí contemplarán mis amigos el verde de las hierbas desgarbadas -¡fantástico lugar!- que se comban y lloran bajo el borde de esa arcilla morada.
Ya aparecen bajo el cielo abierto y de nuevo ven la ondeada y magnífica extensión de campos y colinas, y el mar quizá con un navío cuyas velas alegran el azul entre dos islas de penumbra violácea. ¡Y caminan alegres todos, pero tal vez más mi bienaventurado Charles !Pues muchos años has anhelado la naturaleza, recluso en la ciudad, sobre llevandocon alma triste y paciente el dolor, el mal y la calamidad (...)
Versión de Gabriel InsuastiLabels: Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
posted by Alfil @ 4:28 AM |
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