«El mensajero de la muerte»: John Stagg; poema y análisis.
El mensajero de la muerte (The Messenger of Death) es un poema gótico del escritor inglés John Stagg (1770-1823), publicado en la antología: Poemas misceláneos (Miscellaneous Poems).
Uno de los tópicos principales de la literatura gótica es el amor que sobrevive a la muerte, o mejor dicho, el amor de ultratumba: desdichado y antinatural, que finalmente desencadena la catástrofe sobre aquel que tiene la osadía de permanecer con vida.
El mensajero de la muerte, uno de los más importantes poemas de John Stagg, versifica sobre uno de estos trágicos romances, en este caso, entre lady Jane y lord Walter.
La pobre lady Jane aguarda noticias de su Señor, que combate en las lejanas fronteras de Hesperia. Cierta noche, cuando la esperanza de reencontrarse con su amor aún no se había apagado del todo, un extraño mensajero aparece en su alcoba.
Juntos, la dama y el sombrío mensajero, llegarán hasta las costas del arroyo Derwent. Allí, envueltos en la gélida noche, lady Jane y su Señor finalmente volverán a verse bajo la luna, aunque en medio de circunstancias fatídicas.
El mensajero de la muerte.
The Messenger of Death, John Stagg (1770-1823)
Levántate de tu lecho, bella Lady Jane,
y remueve de tus ojos el sueño,
levántate de tu lecho, bella Lady Jane,
pues vengo noticias que traigo para ti.
Pero rara vez duerme Lady Jane,
casi nunca el sueño visita sus ojos;
desvelada y rendida por su pena,
aún así pregunta: ¿Qué noticias traes para mí?
Alto y soberbio aulla el gélido vendaval,
¡Escucha cómo corren los cercanos torrentes!
Temo que sea la caprichosa penumbra
que se ríe de mí en la medianoche.
Despójate del sueño, Lady Jane,
levántate de tu lecho, y vete;
quita de ti el sueño, Lady Jane,
pues tengo prisa y no debemos quedarnos.
Di, extraño, ¿cuál puede ser tu prisa
o cuál puede ser tu recado?
¿Quién y de dónde te envían,
o di qué noticias me traes?
Lord Walter, mi querido marido,
ahora vence en las llanuras de Hesperia,
donde con ondean con orgullo los estandartes de Bretaña,
donde la muerte y la devastación reinan.
Tres meses apenas han pasado,
aunque tres largos y penosos meses para mí,
desde que el valiente Lord abandonó estas armas,
y con sus valientes se hizo a la mar.
Aunque parezca largo y tedioso el tiempo,
todavía es poco lo que añoro
pensar en noticias de mi lord
o en noticias de la lamentable guerra.
Levántate de tu lecho, bella Lady Jane,
deja la solitaria alcoba y sígueme;
es de parte de Lord Walter que vengo,
yo soy su mensajero para ti.
Pero dime, extraño, dime dónde
Lord Walter vence, y como le está;
pues, aunque de buena gana oiría sobre él,
mi pecho espera por cuidarte.
¿Lo hará la esposa de Lord Walter,
lo hará su lady Jane,
a medianoche abandonar su lecho
y con un extraño por la llanura caminar?
Levántate de tu lecho, Lady Jane,
levántate, y no demores más;
la noche ha casi culmina, y tengo prisa,
y aquí no puede permanecer más.
Cerca de donde el espumoso Derwent corre,
sus corrientes hacia el oeste van al mar,
allí en la playa, del lado de Solway,
Lord Walter os espera ansioso.
Rápido a la llamada de su bien conocido amo,
por el bosque aparece el halcón,
y a los silbidos acude volando,
de forma rápida, con las alas extendidas.
Y así de su lecho Lady Jane salta,
en realidad, no es perezosa ni lenta,
ni teme por una vez la lluvia torrencial,
ni por los gélidos vientos que puedan soplar.
Se coloca su sobrefalda verde,
su bufanda y su capa azul,
se cierra todo con mucha rapidez
para comenzar su viaje de medianoche.
Ya está fuera de la puerta de entrada
y se aventura entre el viento y la lluvia
con una urgente y extraña rapidez,
por la triste pradera azotada por la tormenta.
Más allá de la colina y el valle, por el pantano y el arroyo
y por muchos páramos ellos se apresuran.
No hablan ni una vez, no paran a descansar
hasta alcanzar el lado del Solway.
La noche es oscura, el turbulento océano
golpea impetuoso contra la costa,
y fuera del agua se escucha un duende
gritando con terrible estruendo.
¿Dónde está mi amado?" (dijo Lady Jane)
Traedme pronto a Lord Walter.
Veo el mar, veo la costa
pero no puedo ver a mi Señor.
Oh Lady Jane (el extraño gritó)
Dulce dama, siempre amable y fiel;
¿Porqué te encoges con inocente pavor?
¡El espíritu de tu Señor quien te habla!
En la famosa y tormentosa bahía de Biscay,
nuestro navío se hundió para no navegar más.
Allí, enterrados en una tumba salada,
tu amado marido yace inerte.
Fiel y amable conmigo en vida
tuviste dominio sobre mi alma.
Nuestro amor era mutuo, por eso
¿nuestro será quebrado por la muerte?
Un horror frío sacudió a Lady Jane.
Sus huesos temblaron de horror.
Un frío terrible heló su sangre
y el pulso la abandonó.
Con mirada silenciosa e insensible,
observó y observó al espectro.
Era tan terrible y horrorosa visión
como sus ojos jamás habían visto.
La voracidad oscurecía su cara oscura,
Voracidad de carne arrancada por monstruos insensibles.
Burbujas del mar llenaban sus ojos vacíos,
y de su ropa el agua brotaba.
Sus sienes, una vez gentilmente rubias
se acompasaban ahora con las algas marinas;
y una maraña inmunda de sucias cuerdas
unían las partes de su hermoso cuerpo.
Luego así, con sepulcral voz, una vez más,
el fantasma dijo: ‘Sea como sea
tú debes, mi bella dama,
compartir mi lecho en la muerte.
Ella tembló, y sin vida, sobre la orilla,
Ella cayó; y una gran ola, rápidamente
sobre ella rodó, y con su retroceso
la arrastró hacia una tumba marina.
Nada más se oyó de Lady Jane;
Lord Walter no fue visto más.
Sin embargo los viajeros suelen ver
dos luces vagando por la costa.
Y entre las ráfagas de la tormenta,
se escucha un grito estremecedor,
y dos extrañas figuras a menudo se deslizan
a lo largo de la orilla del arroyo Derwent.
"Rise from your couch, fair Lady Jane,
And drive the slumbers from your ee',
Rise from your couch, fair Lady Jane,
For I have tidings brought for thee."
But seldom slumbers Lady Jane,
But seldom visits sleep her ee';
O'er-wakeful render'd by her woe,
Yet, say, what tidings bring'st thou me?
Loud blust'ring howls the wint'ry gale,
Hark! how the neighb'ring torrents pour!
I fear 'tis but some wanton night,
That mocks me at this midnight hour.
"Shake off thy slumbers, Lady Jane,
Rise from thy couch, and come away;
Shake off thy slumbers, Lady Jane,
For I'm in haste, and must not stay."
"Say, stranger, what can be thy haste,
Or what may this thine errand be?
From whom, and wherefore art thou sent;
Or say, what tidings bring'st thou me?
"Lord Walter, he my wedded Lord,
Now wins on fair Hesperia's plains,
Where proud Britannia's banners fly,
Where death and devastation reigns!
"Three months are scarcely pass'd and gone;
Tho' three long tedious months to me,
Since brave Lord Walter left these arms,
And with his squadrons put to sea.
"Tho' long and tedious seems the time,
Yet well I ween too short by far,
To think of news from him my Lord,
Or tidings from the woeful war."
"Rise from thy couch, fair Lady Jane,
Rise from thy couch, and follow me;
'Tis from Lord Walter's self I come,
I am his messenger to thee."
"Bleak o'er the heath the whirlwind blows,
Fast falls the rain, as fast can be;
Yet, since thou bear'st my Lord's behest,
I'll leave my couch, and come to thee.
"But tell me, stranger, tell me where
Lord Walter wins, and how he fares;
For tho' from him I fain would hear,
My bosom labours with its cares.
"Would it become Lord Walter's wife,
Would it become his Lady Jane,
At midnight hour to leave her couch,
And with a stranger walk the plain?"
"Rise from thy couch, thou Lady Jane,
Arise, and make no more delay;
The night's far spent, and I'm in haste,
And here I must no longer stay.
"Near where the foaming Derwent rolls,
Its currents westward to the sea,
There on the beach, by Solway's side,
Lord Walter anxious waits for thee."
Swift to her well-known master's call,
Up from the brake the falcon springs,
And to the whistling summons hies,
In eager speed, on outstreatch'd wings.
So from her couch sprang Lady Jane;
In sooth, she was not slack or slow,
Nor fear'd she once the drenching rain,
Nor car'd she how the winds might blow.
And she's put on her kertle green,
Her scarf and mantle made of blue;
And donn'd her up with mickle haste,
Her midnight journey to pursue.
And she's unbarr'd the outer door,
And ventur'd 'midst the wind and rain,
And with the urgent stranger sped,
All storm-struck o'er the dreary plain.
O'er hill and dale, thro' bog and burn,
And many a glen they swiftly hied;
Nor spoke they once, nor stopp'd, not stay'd,
Until they reach'd the Solway side.
The night was dark, the boist'rous main
Impetuous dash'd against the shore;
And oft the water sprite was heard
To shriek with loud terrific roar!
"Where is my love? (said Lady Jane,)
O bring Lord Walter quick to me;
I see the sea, I see the shore,
But no Lord Walter can I see.
"O Lady Jane, (the stranger cried)
Fair Lady, ever kind and true;
Why shrink you thus with foolish fear?
Lord Walter's spirit speaks to you!
"In Biscay's well-known stormy bay,
Our vessel sank, no more to rise;
There, buried in a wat'ry grave,
All cold, thy long-lov'd husband lies.
"Constant and kind to me in life,
Thou held'st dominion o'er my heart;
Our love was mutual; then, shall death,
Our love, so well establish'd, part?"
Cold horror seiz'd fair Lady Jane,
Her frame with deadly terror shook;
An icy coldness chill'd her blood,
And motion ev'ry pulse forsook.
With silent and insensate stare,
She view'd the spectre o'er and o'er,
But such and awful hideous sight
Her eyes had never seen before.
All deadly meagre gloom'd his face,
Of flesh by mideous monsters stripp'd;
Sea-bubbles fill'd his vacant eyes,
And from his clothes the waters dripp'd.
His temples, once so comely fair,
Were now with sea-weed compass'd round;
And filthy coils of tangle foul
The parts of his fair body bound.
When thus, with hollow voice, once more,
The phantom said--"Howe'er it be,
You must to-night, fair Lady Jane,
Expect to sleep in death with me!"
She shriek'd, and lifeless on the shore
She fell; when swift a swelling wave
Roll'd over her, and, with its recoil,
Entomb'd her in a wat'ry grave!
No more was heard of Lady Jane;
Lord Walter he was seen no more,
Save that the neighbours sometimes see
Their spirits wander by the shore;
And oft amidst the whirlwind's blast
Is heard full many a hideous scream,
And two strange figures often glide
Along the side of Derwent stream!
John Stagg (1770-1823)
And drive the slumbers from your ee',
Rise from your couch, fair Lady Jane,
For I have tidings brought for thee."
But seldom slumbers Lady Jane,
But seldom visits sleep her ee';
O'er-wakeful render'd by her woe,
Yet, say, what tidings bring'st thou me?
Loud blust'ring howls the wint'ry gale,
Hark! how the neighb'ring torrents pour!
I fear 'tis but some wanton night,
That mocks me at this midnight hour.
"Shake off thy slumbers, Lady Jane,
Rise from thy couch, and come away;
Shake off thy slumbers, Lady Jane,
For I'm in haste, and must not stay."
"Say, stranger, what can be thy haste,
Or what may this thine errand be?
From whom, and wherefore art thou sent;
Or say, what tidings bring'st thou me?
"Lord Walter, he my wedded Lord,
Now wins on fair Hesperia's plains,
Where proud Britannia's banners fly,
Where death and devastation reigns!
"Three months are scarcely pass'd and gone;
Tho' three long tedious months to me,
Since brave Lord Walter left these arms,
And with his squadrons put to sea.
"Tho' long and tedious seems the time,
Yet well I ween too short by far,
To think of news from him my Lord,
Or tidings from the woeful war."
"Rise from thy couch, fair Lady Jane,
Rise from thy couch, and follow me;
'Tis from Lord Walter's self I come,
I am his messenger to thee."
"Bleak o'er the heath the whirlwind blows,
Fast falls the rain, as fast can be;
Yet, since thou bear'st my Lord's behest,
I'll leave my couch, and come to thee.
"But tell me, stranger, tell me where
Lord Walter wins, and how he fares;
For tho' from him I fain would hear,
My bosom labours with its cares.
"Would it become Lord Walter's wife,
Would it become his Lady Jane,
At midnight hour to leave her couch,
And with a stranger walk the plain?"
"Rise from thy couch, thou Lady Jane,
Arise, and make no more delay;
The night's far spent, and I'm in haste,
And here I must no longer stay.
"Near where the foaming Derwent rolls,
Its currents westward to the sea,
There on the beach, by Solway's side,
Lord Walter anxious waits for thee."
Swift to her well-known master's call,
Up from the brake the falcon springs,
And to the whistling summons hies,
In eager speed, on outstreatch'd wings.
So from her couch sprang Lady Jane;
In sooth, she was not slack or slow,
Nor fear'd she once the drenching rain,
Nor car'd she how the winds might blow.
And she's put on her kertle green,
Her scarf and mantle made of blue;
And donn'd her up with mickle haste,
Her midnight journey to pursue.
And she's unbarr'd the outer door,
And ventur'd 'midst the wind and rain,
And with the urgent stranger sped,
All storm-struck o'er the dreary plain.
O'er hill and dale, thro' bog and burn,
And many a glen they swiftly hied;
Nor spoke they once, nor stopp'd, not stay'd,
Until they reach'd the Solway side.
The night was dark, the boist'rous main
Impetuous dash'd against the shore;
And oft the water sprite was heard
To shriek with loud terrific roar!
"Where is my love? (said Lady Jane,)
O bring Lord Walter quick to me;
I see the sea, I see the shore,
But no Lord Walter can I see.
"O Lady Jane, (the stranger cried)
Fair Lady, ever kind and true;
Why shrink you thus with foolish fear?
Lord Walter's spirit speaks to you!
"In Biscay's well-known stormy bay,
Our vessel sank, no more to rise;
There, buried in a wat'ry grave,
All cold, thy long-lov'd husband lies.
"Constant and kind to me in life,
Thou held'st dominion o'er my heart;
Our love was mutual; then, shall death,
Our love, so well establish'd, part?"
Cold horror seiz'd fair Lady Jane,
Her frame with deadly terror shook;
An icy coldness chill'd her blood,
And motion ev'ry pulse forsook.
With silent and insensate stare,
She view'd the spectre o'er and o'er,
But such and awful hideous sight
Her eyes had never seen before.
All deadly meagre gloom'd his face,
Of flesh by mideous monsters stripp'd;
Sea-bubbles fill'd his vacant eyes,
And from his clothes the waters dripp'd.
His temples, once so comely fair,
Were now with sea-weed compass'd round;
And filthy coils of tangle foul
The parts of his fair body bound.
When thus, with hollow voice, once more,
The phantom said--"Howe'er it be,
You must to-night, fair Lady Jane,
Expect to sleep in death with me!"
She shriek'd, and lifeless on the shore
She fell; when swift a swelling wave
Roll'd over her, and, with its recoil,
Entomb'd her in a wat'ry grave!
No more was heard of Lady Jane;
Lord Walter he was seen no more,
Save that the neighbours sometimes see
Their spirits wander by the shore;
And oft amidst the whirlwind's blast
Is heard full many a hideous scream,
And two strange figures often glide
Along the side of Derwent stream!
John Stagg (1770-1823)
Más poemas góticos. I Poemas de John Stagg.
Más literatura gótica:
- Poemas de vampiros.
- Poemas de muerte.
- Poemas ingleses.
- Poemas del romanticismo.
- Poemas góticos de amor.
- Poemas de dolor.
- Poemas tristes.
1 comentarios:
Un relato de amor espectral, pero ¿quién no quisiera estar en el lugar de Lady Jane? Al menos ese es uno de mis oscuros deseos, que mi amante corra a nuestro encuentro sin importar que el obstáculo sea la muerte.
Saludos ;)
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