«Por la noche yacíamos sobre el césped»: Alfred Tennyson; poema y análisis.
Por la noche yacíamos sobre el césped (By Night We Lingered On The Lawn) es un poema del escritor inglés Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892), parte la sección XCV de una obra mucho más ambiciosa: In Memoriam A.H.H. (In Memoriam A.H.H), terminada en 1849 y compuesta en un período de diecisiete años.
Este notable poema de Alfred Tennyson introduce algunos elementos fascinantes, como la sensación de irrealidad frente a determinadas circunstancias tales como el recuerdo, cuyas imágenes se deforman con el tiempo hasta adquirir la dudosa consistencia de los sueños.
Por la noche yacíamos sobre el césped.
By Night We Lingered On The Lawn, lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
Por la noche yacíamos sobre el césped,
Pues debajo la hierba era seca y cálida;
Y a través del cielo una bruma plateada
Se anticipaba al verano, en calma,
Permitiendo que los cirios ardan inquebrantables:
No se escuchaba el canto de los grillos,
Y sólo se oyó el murmullo de un arrollo lejano,
Y sobre la urna el débil aleteo
De los murciélagos en los fragantes cielos,
Girando brillantes en delicadas formas
Que surgen durante el crepúsculo,
Envueltos en capas oscuras;
Con pechos hirsutos y perlados ojos.
Mientras cantábamos viejas baladas que sonaron
De colina en colina, donde cómodos yacíamos,
La blanca becerra resplandeció, y los árboles
Rodearon el campo con sus oscuros brazos.
Pero cuando los otros, uno por uno,
Huyeron de mí y de la Noche,
Cuando en la casa, una por una,
Las luces se apagaron, yo permanecí solo.
El hambre asaltó mi corazón, Leí;
Sobre aquellos felices años que una vez fueron,
En las hojas marchitas que conservaban su verdor,
Las nobles letras de los muertos.
Extrañamente, sobre el silencio brotaron
Las mudas letras parlantes, y extraño
Fue el lamento desafiante de las palabras
Que probaban su valor. Entonces, oh prodigio: habló.
Habló de la Fe, el Vigor, el Valor de detenerse
Donde la duda impulsa la espalda del cobarde,
Y pronunció agudos enigmas que sugerían,
Que atraían hacia la intimidad de su celda.
Entonces, palabra a palabras, línea tras línea,
El hombre muerto me tocó desde el pasado,
Y todo al mismo tiempo me pareció
Que el alma viviente fue reflejada en mí.
Allí mi alma fue herida, girando
Sobre las empíreas alturas del pensamiento,
Llegando hasta aquello que es, atrapando
Las hondas pulsaciones del mundo.
Una melodía antigua que medía
Los pasos del tiempo, los golpes de la fortuna,
El soplo de la Muerte. Lentamente, mi trance
Fue diluyéndose, aferrada a la penosa duda.
¡Vagas palabras! Pero cuán difícil es
Darles forma, moldearlas en el discurso,
Que duro es para el intelecto hurgar
En la memoria de lo que me convertí.
Hasta ahora, el dudoso crepúsculo revela
Las colinas una vez más, donde cómodos yacíamos,
Donde la blanca becerra resplandecía, y los árboles
Rodeaban el campo con sus oscuros brazos.
Aspirada desde las tinieblas lejanas,
La brisa comenzó a temblar sobre
Las grandes hojas del sicomoro,
Penetrando todo con su inmóvil fragancia.
Reuniéndose sobre las frescas bóvedas,
Sacudió las ramas de los olmos, y pasó
Sobre las rosas abatidas; y agitó
Los lirios de un lado a otro, diciendo:
El Alba, el Amanecer. Y murió lejos.
El este y el oeste, sin un hálito de aliento,
Mezclaron sus tenues luces, como la vida y la muerte,
Para esculpir un día que jamás tendrá fin.
By night we linger'd on the lawn,
For underfoot the herb was dry;
And genial warmth; and o'er the sky
The silvery haze of summer drawn;
And calm that let the tapers burn
Unwavering: not a cricket chirr'd:
The brook alone far-off was heard,
And on the board the fluttering urn:
And bats went round in fragrant skies,
And wheel'd or lit the filmy shapes
That haunt the dusk, with ermine capes
And woolly breasts and beaded eyes;
While now we sang old songs that peal'd
From knoll to knoll, where, couch'd at ease,
The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees
Laid their dark arms about the field.
But when those others, one by one,
Withdrew themselves from me and night,
And in the house light after light
Went out, and I was all alone,
A hunger seized my heart; I read
Of that glad year which once had been,
In those fall'n leaves which kept their green,
The noble letters of the dead:
And strangely on the silence broke
The silent-speaking words, and strange
Was love's dumb cry defying change
To test his worth; and strangely spoke
The faith, the vigour, bold to dwell
On doubts that drive the coward back,
And keen thro' wordy snares to track
Suggestion to her inmost cell.
So word by word, and line by line,
The dead man touch'd me from the past,
And all at once it seem'd at last
The living soul was flash'd on mine,
And mine in this was wound, and whirl'd
About empyreal heights of thought,
And came on that which is, and caught
The deep pulsations of the world,
Æonian music measuring out
The steps of Time —the shocks of Chance—
The blows of Death. At length my trance
Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt.
Vague words! but ah, how hard to frame
In matter-moulded forms of speech,
Or ev'n for intellect to reach
Thro' memory that which I became:
Till now the doubtful dusk reveal'd
The knolls once more where, couch'd at ease,
The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees
Laid their dark arms about the field:
And suck'd from out the distant gloom
A breeze began to tremble o'er
The large leaves of the sycamore,
And fluctuate all the still perfume,
And gathering freshlier overhead,
Rock'd the full-foliaged elms, and swung
The heavy-folded rose, and flung
The lilies to and fro, and said
" The dawn, the dawn, " and died away;
And East and West, without a breath,
Mixt their dim lights, like life and death,
To broaden into boundless day.
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
For underfoot the herb was dry;
And genial warmth; and o'er the sky
The silvery haze of summer drawn;
And calm that let the tapers burn
Unwavering: not a cricket chirr'd:
The brook alone far-off was heard,
And on the board the fluttering urn:
And bats went round in fragrant skies,
And wheel'd or lit the filmy shapes
That haunt the dusk, with ermine capes
And woolly breasts and beaded eyes;
While now we sang old songs that peal'd
From knoll to knoll, where, couch'd at ease,
The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees
Laid their dark arms about the field.
But when those others, one by one,
Withdrew themselves from me and night,
And in the house light after light
Went out, and I was all alone,
A hunger seized my heart; I read
Of that glad year which once had been,
In those fall'n leaves which kept their green,
The noble letters of the dead:
And strangely on the silence broke
The silent-speaking words, and strange
Was love's dumb cry defying change
To test his worth; and strangely spoke
The faith, the vigour, bold to dwell
On doubts that drive the coward back,
And keen thro' wordy snares to track
Suggestion to her inmost cell.
So word by word, and line by line,
The dead man touch'd me from the past,
And all at once it seem'd at last
The living soul was flash'd on mine,
And mine in this was wound, and whirl'd
About empyreal heights of thought,
And came on that which is, and caught
The deep pulsations of the world,
Æonian music measuring out
The steps of Time —the shocks of Chance—
The blows of Death. At length my trance
Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt.
Vague words! but ah, how hard to frame
In matter-moulded forms of speech,
Or ev'n for intellect to reach
Thro' memory that which I became:
Till now the doubtful dusk reveal'd
The knolls once more where, couch'd at ease,
The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees
Laid their dark arms about the field:
And suck'd from out the distant gloom
A breeze began to tremble o'er
The large leaves of the sycamore,
And fluctuate all the still perfume,
And gathering freshlier overhead,
Rock'd the full-foliaged elms, and swung
The heavy-folded rose, and flung
The lilies to and fro, and said
" The dawn, the dawn, " and died away;
And East and West, without a breath,
Mixt their dim lights, like life and death,
To broaden into boundless day.
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
Poemas góticos. I Poemas de Alfred Tennyson.
Más literatura gótica:
- Poemas de recuerdos.
- Poemas ingleses.
- Poemas victorianos.
- Poemas del tiempo.
- Poemas del pasado.
- Poemas tristes.
- Poemas de la noche.
- Poemas de dolor.
- Poemas de muerte.
- Poemas del romanticismo.
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