Tuesday, 29 October 2013

"Little Snow-White" by the Grimm Brothers (translated into English by L. L. Weedon)




Translated by L.L. Weedon.
Grimm's Fairy Tales. London: Ernest Nister, [1898], pp. 9-20.

Long, long ago, in the winter-time, when the snowflakes were falling like little white feathers from the sky, a beautiful Queen sat beside her window, which was framed in black ebony, and stitched. As she worked, she looked sometimes at the falling snow, and so it happened that she pricked her finger with her needle, so that three drops of blood fell upon the snow. How pretty the red blood looked upon the dazzling white! The Queen said to herself as she saw it, "Ah me! If only I had a dear little child as white as the snow, as rosy as the blood, and with hair as black as the ebony window-frame."
            Soon afterwards a little daughter came to her, who was white as snow, rosy as the blood, and whose hair was as black as ebony--so she was called "Little Snow-White."
            But alas! When the little one came, the good Queen dies.
            A year passed away, and the King took another wife. She was very beautiful, but so proud and haughty that she could not bear to be surpassed in beauty by anyone. She possessed a wonderful mirror which could answer her when she stood before it and said-
"Mirror, mirror upon the wall, Who is the fairest of all?"
            The mirror answered-
            "Thou, O Queen, art the fairest of all," and the Queen was contented, because she knew the mirror could speak nothing but the truth.
            But as time passed on, Little Snow-White grew more and more beautiful, until when she was seven years old, she was as lovely as the bright day, and still more lovely than the Queen herself, so that when the lady one day asked her mirror-
            "Mirror, mirror upon the wall, Who is the fairest fair of all?" it answered-
            "O Lady Queen, though fair ye be, Snow-White is fairer far to see."
            The Queen was horrified, and from that moment envy and pride grew in her heart like rank weeds, until one day she called a huntsman and said "Take the child away into the woods and kill her, for I can no longer bear the sight of her. And when you return bring with you her heart, that I may know you have obeyed my will."
            The huntsman dared not disobey, so he led Snow-White out into the woods and placed an arrow in his bow to pierce her innocent heart, but the little maid begged him to spare her life, and the child's beauty touched his heart with pity, so that he bade her run away.
            Then as a young wild boar came rushing by, he killed it, took out its heart, and carried it home to the Queen.
            Poor little Snow-White was now all alone in the wild wood, and so frightened was she that she trembled at every leaf that rustled. So she began to run, and ran on and on until she came to a little house, where she went in to rest.
            In the little house everything she saw was tiny, but more dainty and clean than words can tell.
            Upon a white-covered table stood seven little plates and upon each plate lay a little spoon, besides which there were seven knives and forks and seven little goblets. Against the wall, and side by side, stood seven little beds covered with snow-white sheets.
            Snow-White was so hungry and thirsty that she took a little food from each of the seven plates, and drank a few drops of wine from each goblet, for she did not wish to take everything away from one. Then, because she was so tired, she crept into one bed after the other, seeking for rest, but one was too long, another too short, and so on, until she came to the seventh, which suited her exactly; so she said her prayers and soon fell fast asleep.
            When night fell the masters of the little house came home. They were seven dwarfs, who worked with a pick-axe and spade, searching for cooper and gold in the heart of the mountains.
They lit their seven candles and then saw that someone had been to visit them. The first said, "Who has been sitting on my chair?"
            The second said, "Who has been eating from my plate?"
            The third, "Who has taken a piece of my bread?"
            The fourth, "Who has taken some of my vegetables?"
            The fifth, "Who has been using my fork?"
            The sixth, "Who has been cutting with my knife?"
            The seventh, "Who has been drinking out of my goblet?"
            The first looked round and saw that his bed was rumpled, so he said, "Who has been getting into my bed?"
            Then the others looked round and each one cried, "Someone has been on my bed too?"
            But the seventh saw little Snow-White lying asleep in his bed, and called the others to come and look at her; and they cried aloud with surprise, and fetched their seven little candles, so that they might see her the better, and they were so pleased with her beauty that they let her sleep on all night.
            When the sun rose Snow-White awoke, and, oh! How frightened she was when she saw the seven little dwarfs. But they were very friendly, and asked what her name was. "My name is Snow-White," she answered.
            "And how did you come to get into our house?" questioned the dwarfs.
            Then she told them how her cruel step-mother had intended her to be killed, but how the huntsman had spared her life and she had run on until she reached the little house. And the dwarfs said, "If you will take care of our house, cook for us, and make the beds, wash, mend, and knit, and keep everything neat and clean, then you may stay with us altogether and you shall want for nothing."
            "With all my heart," answered Snow-White; and so she stayed.
            She kept the house neat and clean for the dwarfs, who went off early in the morning to search for copper and gold in the mountains, and who expected their meal to be standing ready for them when they returned at night.
            All day long Snow-White was alone, and the good little dwarfs warned her to be careful to let no one into the house. "For," said they, "your step-mother will soon discover that you are living here."
            The Queen, believing, of course, that Snow-White was dead, and that therefore she was again the most beautiful lady in the land, went to her mirror, and said-
            "Mirror, mirror upon the wall, Who is the fairest fair of all?"
            Then the mirror answered-
            "O Lady Queen, though fair ye be, Snow-White is fairer far to see. Over the hills and far away, She dwells with seven dwarfs to-day."
            How angry she was, for she knew that the mirror spoke the truth, and that the huntsman must have deceived her. She thought and thought how she might kill Snow-White, for she knew she would have neither rest nor peace until she really was the most beautiful lady in the land. At length she decided what to do. She painted her face and dressed herself like an old pedlar-woman, so that no one could recognize her, and in this disguise she climbed the seven mountains that lay between her and the dwarfs' house, and knocked at their door and cried, "Good wares to sell-very cheap to-day!"
            Snow-White peeped from the window and said, "Good day, good-wife, and what are your wares?"
            "All sorts of pretty things, my dear," answered the woman. "Silken laces of every colour," and she held up a bright-coloured one, made of plaited silks.
            "Surely I might let this honest old woman come in?" thought Snow-White, and unbolted the door and bought the pretty lace.
            "Dear, dear, what a figure you are, child," said the old woman; "come, let me lace you properly for once."
            Snow-White had no suspicious thoughts, so she placed herself in front of the old woman that she might fasten her dress with the new silk lace. But in less than no time the wicked creature had laced her so tightly that she could not breathe, but fell down upon the ground as though she were dead. "Now," said the Queen, "I am once more the most beautiful lady in the land," and she went away.
            When the dwarfs came home they were very grieved to find their dear little Snow-White lying upon the ground as though she were dead. They lifted her gently and, seeing that she was too tightly laced, they cut the silken cord, when she drew a long breath and then gradually came back to life.
            When the dwarfs heard all that had happened they said, "The pedlar-woman was certainly the wicked Queen. Now, take care in future that you open the door to none when we are not with you."
            The wicked Queen had no sooner reached home than she went to her mirror, and said-
            "Mirror, mirror upon the wall, Who is the fairest fair of all?"
            And the mirror answered as before-
            "O Lady Queen, though fair ye be, Snow-White is fairer far to see. Over the hills and far away, She dwells with seven dwarfs to-day."
            The blood rushed to her face as she heard these words, for she knew that Snow-White must have come to life again.
            "But I will manage to put an end to her yet," she said, and then, by means of her magic, she made a poisonous comb.
            Again she disguised herself, climbed the seven mountains, and knocked at the door of the seven dwarfs' cottage, crying, "Good wares to sell-very cheap today!"
            Snow-White looked out of the window and said, "Go away, good woman, for I dare not let you in."
            Surely you can look at my goods," answered the woman, and held up the poisonous comb, which pleased Snow-White so well that she opened the door and bought it.
            "Come, let me comb your hair in the newest way," said the woman, and the poor unsuspicious child let her have her way, but no sooner did the comb touch her hair than the poison began to work, and she fell fainting to the ground.
            "There, you model of beauty," said the wicked woman, as she went away, "you are done for at last!"
            But fortunately it was almost time for the dwarfs to come home, and as soon as they came in and found Snow-White lying upon the ground they guessed that her wicked step-mother had been there again, and set to work to find out what was wrong.
            They soon saw the poisonous comb, and drew it out, and almost immediately Snow-White began to recover, and told them what had happened.
            Once more they warned her to be on her guard, and to open the door to no one.
            When the Queen reached home, she went straight to the mirror and said-
            "Mirror, mirror on the wall, Who is the fairest fair of all?"
            And the mirror answered-
            "O Lady Queen, though fair ye be, Snow-White is fairer far to see. Over the hills and far away, She dwells with seven dwarfs to-day."
            When the Queen heard these words she shook with rage. "Snow-White shall die," she cried, "even if it costs me my own life to manage it."
            She went into a secret chamber, where no one else ever entered, and there she made a poisonous apple, and then she painted her face and disguised herself as a peasant woman, and climbed the seven mountains and went to the dwarfs' house.
            She knocked at the door. Snow-White put her head out of the window, and said, "I must not let anyone in; the seven dwarfs have forbidden me to do so."
            "It's all the same to me," answered the peasant woman; "I shall soon get rid of these fine apples. But before I go I'll make you a present of one."
            "Oh! No," said Snow-White, "for I must not take it."
            "Surely you are not afraid of poison?" said the woman. "See, I will cut one in two: the rosy cheek you shall take, and the white cheek I will eat myself."
            Now, the apple had been so cleverly made that only the rose-cheeked side contained the poison. Snow-White longed for the delicious-looking fruit, and when she saw that the woman ate half of it, she thought there could be no danger, and stretched out her hand and took the other part. But no sooner had she tasted it than she fell down dead.
            The wicked Queen laughed aloud with joy as she gazed at her. "White as snow, red as blood, black as ebony," she said, "this time the dwarfs cannot awaken you."
            And she went straight home and asked her mirror--
            "Mirror, mirror upon the wall, Who is the fairest fair of all?"
            And at length it answered-
            "Thou, O Queen, art fairest of all!"
            So her envious heart had peace-at least, so much peace as an envious heart can have.
            When the little dwarfs came home at night they found Snow-White lying upon the ground. No breath came from her parted lips, for she was dead. They lifted her tenderly and sought for some poisonous object which might have caused the mischief, unlaced her frock, combed her hair, and washed her with wine and water, but all in vain-dead she was and dead she remained. They laid her upon a bier, and all seven of them sat round about it, and wept as though their hearts would break, for three whole days.
            When the time came that she should be laid in the ground they could not bear to part from her. Her pretty cheeks were still rosy red, and she looked just as though she were still living.
            "We cannot hide her away in the dark earth," said the dwarfs, and so they made a transparent coffin of shining glass, and laid her in it, and wrote her name upon it in letters of gold; also they wrote that she was a King's daughter. Then they placed the coffin upon the mountain-top, and took it in turns to watch beside it. And all the animals came and wept for Snow-White, first an owl, then a raven, and then a little dove.
            For a long, long time little Snow-White lay in the coffin, but her form did not wither; she only looked as though she slept, for she was still as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as ebony.
            It chanced that a King's son came into the wood, and went to the dwarfs' house, meaning to spend the night there. He saw the coffin upon the mountain-top, with little Snow-White lying within it, and he read the words that were written upon it in letters of gold.
            And he said to the dwarfs, "If you will but let me have the coffin, you may ask of me what you will, and I will give it to you."
            But the dwarfs answered, "We would not sell it for all the gold in the world."
            Then said the Prince, "Let me have it as a gift, I pray you, for I cannot live without seeing little Snow-White, and I will prize your gift as the dearest of my possessions."
            The good little dwarfs pitied him when they heard these words, and so gave him the coffin. The King's son then bade his servants place it upon their shoulders and carry it away, but as they went they stumbled over the stump of a tree, and the violent shaking shook the piece of poisonous apple which had lodged in Snow-White's throat out again, so that she opened her eyes, raised the lid of the coffin, and sat up, alive once more.
            "Where am I?" she cried, and the happy Prince answered, "Thou art with me, dearest."
            Then he told her all that had happened, and how he loved her better than the whole world, and begged her to go with him to his father's palace and be his wife. Snow-White consented, and went with him, and the wedding was celebrated with great splendour and magnificence.
            Little Snow-White's wicked step-mother was bidden to the feast, and when she had arrayed herself in her most beautiful garments, she stood before her mirror, and said-
            "Mirror, mirror upon the wall, Who is the fairest fair of all?"
            And the mirror answered-
            "O Lady Queen, though fair ye be, The young Queen is fairer to see."
            Oh! How angry the wicked woman was then, and so terrified, too, that she scarcely knew what to do. At first she thought she would not go to the wedding at all, but then she felt that she could not rest until she had seen the young Queen. No sooner did she enter the palace than she recognized little Snow-White, and could not move for terror.
            Then a pair of red-hot iron shoes was brought into the room with tongs and set before her, and these she was forced to put on and to dance in them until she could dance no longer, but fell down dead, and that was the end of her.

THE END

Monday, 28 October 2013

Velho Tema by Vicente de Carvalho (in Portuguese)



Só a leve esperança, em toda a vida,
Disfarça a pena de viver, mais nada;
Nem é mais a existência resumida,
Que uma grande esperança malograda.

O eterno sonho da alma desterrada,
Sonho que a traz ansiosa e embevecida,
É uma hora feliz sempre adiada
E que não chega nunca em toda vida.

Essa felicidade que supomos,
Árvore milagrosa que sonhamos,
Toda arreada de dourados pomos.

Existe, sim; mas nós não a alcançamos
Porque está sempre apenas onde a pomos
E nunca a pomos onde nós estamos.

Saturday, 26 October 2013

"Lorelei" by Heinrich Heine (in English)


                                                                                                                     Translator: A.Z. Foreman

I know not if there is a reason
Why I am so sad at heart.
A legend of bygone ages
Haunts me and will not depart.

The air is cool under nightfall.
The calm Rhine courses its way.
The peak of the mountain is sparkling
With evening's final ray.

The fairest of maidens is sitting
Unwittingly wondrous up there,
Her golden jewels are shining,
She's combing her golden hair.

The comb she holds is golden,
She sings a song as well
Whose melody binds an enthralling
And overpowering spell.

In his little boat, the boatman
Is seized with a savage woe,
He'd rather look up at the mountain
Than down at the rocks below.

I think that the waves will devour
The boatman and boat as one;
And this by her song's sheer power
Fair Lorelei has done.

Thursday, 24 October 2013

Romeo's Passion by William Shakespeare (in English)


           Romeo and Juliet - Act II, Scene 2.
          Enter ROMEO

ROMEO: He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

           JULIET appears above at a window

    But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
    It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
    Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
    Who is already sick and pale with grief,
    That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
    Be not her maid, since she is envious;
    Her vestal livery is but sick and green
    And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
    It is my lady, O, it is my love!
    O, that she knew she were!
    She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
    Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
    I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
    Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
    Having some business, do entreat her eyes
    To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
    What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
    The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
    As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
    Would through the airy region stream so bright
    That birds would sing and think it were not night.
    See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
    O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
    That I might touch that cheek!

JULIET: Ay me!

ROMEO:            She speaks:
    O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
    As glorious to this night, being o'er my head
    As is a winged messenger of heaven
    Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
    Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
    When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
    And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

"As Pombas" by Raimundo Correia (in Portuguese)



Vai-se a primeira pomba despertada...
Vai-se outra mais... mais outra... enfim dezenas
De pombas vão-se dos pombais, apenas
Raia sanguínea e fresca a madrugada...

E à tarde, quando a rígida nortada
Sopra, aos pombais de novo elas, serenas,
Ruflando as asas, sacudindo as penas,
Voltam todas em bando e em revoada...

Também dos corações onde abotoam,
Os sonhos, um por um, céleres voam,
Como voam as pombas dos pombais;

No azul da adolescência as asas soltam,
Fogem... Mas aos pombais as pombas voltam,
E eles aos corações não voltam mais...

Tuesday, 22 October 2013

Todas as Cartas de Amor são Ridículas by Álvaro de Campos (Fernando Pessooa) (in Portuguese)


Todas as cartas de amor são
Ridículas.
Não seriam cartas de amor se não fossem
Ridículas.
Também escrevi em meu tempo cartas de amor,
Como as outras,
Ridículas.

As cartas de amor, se há amor,
Têm de ser
Ridículas.

Mas, afinal,
Só as criaturas que nunca escreveram
Cartas de amor
É que são
Ridículas.

Quem me dera no tempo em que escrevia
Sem dar por isso
Cartas de amor
Ridículas.

A verdade é que hoje
As minhas memórias
Dessas cartas de amor
É que são
Ridículas.

(Todas as palavras esdrúxulas,
Como os sentimentos esdrúxulos,
São naturalmente
Ridículas.)

Monday, 21 October 2013

Edward II by Christopher Marlowe (in English)




All. We will wait here about the court.

Gaveston. Do. [Exeunt Poor Men.
              These are not men for me;
   I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits,
   Musicians, that with touching of a string
   May draw the pliant king which way I please:
   Music and poetry is his delight;
   Therefore I'll have Italian masks by night,
   Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows;
   And in the day, when he shall walk abroad,
   Like sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad;
   My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,
   Shall with their goat-feet dance the antic hay;
   Sometime a lovely boy in Dian's shape,
   With hair that gilds the water as it glides
   Crownets of pearl about his naked arms,
   And in his sportful hands an olive-tree,
   To hide those parts which men delight to see,
   Shall bathe him in a spring; and there, hard by,
   One like Actæon, peeping through the grove,
   Shall by the angry goddess be transform'd,
   And running in the likeness of an hart,
   By yelping hounds pull'd down, shall semm to die:
   Such things as these best please his majesty.—
   Here comes my lord the king, and the nobles,
   From the parliament. I'll stand aside. [Retires.

Friday, 18 October 2013

"O Navio Negreiro ou Tragédia em Alto Mar" by Castro Alves (in Portuguese)



  I
'Stamos em pleno mar... Doudo no espaço
Brinca o luar — dourada borboleta;
E as vagas após ele correm... cansam
Como turba de infantes inquieta. 

'Stamos em pleno mar... Do firmamento
Os astros saltam como espumas de ouro...
O mar em troca acende as ardentias,
— Constelações do líquido tesouro... 

'Stamos em pleno mar... Dois infinitos
Ali se estreitam num abraço insano,
Azuis, dourados, plácidos, sublimes...
Qual dos dous é o céu? qual o oceano?... 

'Stamos em pleno mar. . . Abrindo as velas
Ao quente arfar das virações marinhas,
Veleiro brigue corre à flor dos mares,
Como roçam na vaga as andorinhas... 

Donde vem? onde vai?  Das naus errantes
Quem sabe o rumo se é tão grande o espaço?
Neste saara os corcéis o pó levantam, 
Galopam, voam, mas não deixam traço. 

Bem feliz quem ali pode nest'hora
Sentir deste painel a majestade!
Embaixo — o mar em cima — o firmamento...
E no mar e no céu — a imensidade! 

Oh! que doce harmonia traz-me a brisa!
Que música suave ao longe soa!
Meu Deus! como é sublime um canto ardente
Pelas vagas sem fim boiando à toa! 

Homens do mar! ó rudes marinheiros,
Tostados pelo sol dos quatro mundos!
Crianças que a procela acalentara
No berço destes pélagos profundos! 

Esperai! esperai! deixai que eu beba
Esta selvagem, livre poesia
Orquestra — é o mar, que ruge pela proa,
E o vento, que nas cordas assobia...
.......................................................... 

Por que foges assim, barco ligeiro?
Por que foges do pávido poeta?
Oh! quem me dera acompanhar-te a esteira
Que semelha no mar — doudo cometa! 

Albatroz!  Albatroz! águia do oceano,
Tu que dormes das nuvens entre as gazas,
Sacode as penas, Leviathan do espaço,
Albatroz!  Albatroz! dá-me estas asas.
 
  II
Que importa do nauta o berço,
Donde é filho, qual seu lar?
Ama a cadência do verso
Que lhe ensina o velho mar!
Cantai! que a morte é divina!
Resvala o brigue à bolina
Como golfinho veloz.
Presa ao mastro da mezena
Saudosa bandeira acena
As vagas que deixa após. 

Do Espanhol as cantilenas
Requebradas de langor,
Lembram as moças morenas,
As andaluzas em flor!
Da Itália o filho indolente
Canta Veneza dormente,
— Terra de amor e traição,
Ou do golfo no regaço
Relembra os versos de Tasso,
Junto às lavas do vulcão! 

O Inglês — marinheiro frio,
Que ao nascer no mar se achou,
(Porque a Inglaterra é um navio,
Que Deus na Mancha ancorou),
Rijo entoa pátrias glórias,
Lembrando, orgulhoso, histórias
De Nelson e de Aboukir.. .
O Francês — predestinado —
Canta os louros do passado
E os loureiros do porvir! 

Os marinheiros Helenos,
Que a vaga jônia criou,
Belos piratas morenos
Do mar que Ulisses cortou,
Homens que Fídias talhara,
Vão cantando em noite clara
Versos que Homero gemeu ...
Nautas de todas as plagas,
Vós sabeis achar nas vagas
As melodias do céu! ...
 
  III
Desce do espaço imenso, ó águia do oceano!
Desce mais ... inda mais... não pode olhar humano
Como o teu mergulhar no brigue voador!
Mas que vejo eu aí... Que quadro d'amarguras!
É canto funeral! ... Que tétricas figuras! ...
Que cena infame e vil... Meu Deus! Meu Deus! Que horror!
 
  IV
Era um sonho dantesco... o tombadilho 
Que das luzernas avermelha o brilho.
Em sangue a se banhar.
Tinir de ferros... estalar de açoite... 
Legiões de homens negros como a noite,
Horrendos a dançar... 

Negras mulheres, suspendendo às tetas 
Magras crianças, cujas bocas pretas 
Rega o sangue das mães: 
Outras moças, mas nuas e espantadas, 
No turbilhão de espectros arrastadas,
Em ânsia e mágoa vãs! 

E ri-se a orquestra irônica, estridente...
E da ronda fantástica a serpente 
Faz doudas espirais ...
Se o velho arqueja, se no chão resvala, 
Ouvem-se gritos... o chicote estala.
E voam mais e mais... 

Presa nos elos de uma só cadeia, 
A multidão faminta cambaleia,
E chora e dança ali!
Um de raiva delira, outro enlouquece, 
Outro, que martírios embrutece,
Cantando, geme e ri! 

No entanto o capitão manda a manobra,
E após fitando o céu que se desdobra,
Tão puro sobre o mar,
Diz do fumo entre os densos nevoeiros:
"Vibrai rijo o chicote, marinheiros!
Fazei-os mais dançar!..." 

E ri-se a orquestra irônica, estridente. . .
E da ronda fantástica a serpente
Faz doudas espirais...
Qual um sonho dantesco as sombras voam!...
Gritos, ais, maldições, preces ressoam!
E ri-se Satanás!... 
 
  V
Senhor Deus dos desgraçados!
Dizei-me vós, Senhor Deus!
Se é loucura... se é verdade
Tanto horror perante os céus?!
Ó mar, por que não apagas
Co'a esponja de tuas vagas
De teu manto este borrão?...
Astros! noites! tempestades!
Rolai das imensidades!
Varrei os mares, tufão! 

Quem são estes desgraçados
Que não encontram em vós
Mais que o rir calmo da turba
Que excita a fúria do algoz?
Quem são?   Se a estrela se cala,
Se a vaga à pressa resvala
Como um cúmplice fugaz,
Perante a noite confusa...
Dize-o tu, severa Musa,
Musa libérrima, audaz!... 

São os filhos do deserto,
Onde a terra esposa a luz.
Onde vive em campo aberto
A tribo dos homens nus...
São os guerreiros ousados
Que com os tigres mosqueados
Combatem na solidão.
Ontem simples, fortes, bravos.
Hoje míseros escravos,
Sem luz, sem ar, sem razão. . . 

São mulheres desgraçadas,
Como Agar o foi também.
Que sedentas, alquebradas,
De longe... bem longe vêm...
Trazendo com tíbios passos,
Filhos e algemas nos braços,
N'alma — lágrimas e fel...
Como Agar sofrendo tanto,
Que nem o leite de pranto
Têm que dar para Ismael. 

Lá nas areias infindas,
Das palmeiras no país,
Nasceram crianças lindas,
Viveram moças gentis...
Passa um dia a caravana,
Quando a virgem na cabana
Cisma da noite nos véus ...
... Adeus, ó choça do monte,
... Adeus, palmeiras da fonte!...
... Adeus, amores... adeus!... 

Depois, o areal extenso...
Depois, o oceano de pó.
Depois no horizonte imenso
Desertos... desertos só...
E a fome, o cansaço, a sede...
Ai! quanto infeliz que cede,
E cai p'ra não mais s'erguer!...
Vaga um lugar na cadeia,
Mas o chacal sobre a areia
Acha um corpo que roer. 

Ontem a Serra Leoa,
A guerra, a caça ao leão,
O sono dormido à toa
Sob as tendas d'amplidão!
Hoje... o porão negro, fundo,
Infecto, apertado, imundo,
Tendo a peste por jaguar...
E o sono sempre cortado
Pelo arranco de um finado,
E o baque de um corpo ao mar... 

Ontem plena liberdade,
A vontade por poder...
Hoje... cúm'lo de maldade,
Nem são livres p'ra morrer. .
Prende-os a mesma corrente
— Férrea, lúgubre serpente —
Nas roscas da escravidão.
E assim zombando da morte,
Dança a lúgubre coorte
Ao som do açoute... Irrisão!... 

Senhor Deus dos desgraçados!
Dizei-me vós, Senhor Deus,
Se eu deliro... ou se é verdade
Tanto horror perante os céus?!...
Ó mar, por que não apagas
Co'a esponja de tuas vagas
Do teu manto este borrão?
Astros! noites! tempestades!
Rolai das imensidades!
Varrei os mares, tufão! ...
 
  VI  
Existe um povo que a bandeira empresta
P'ra cobrir tanta infâmia e cobardia!...
E deixa-a transformar-se nessa festa
Em manto impuro de bacante fria!...
Meu Deus! meu Deus! mas que bandeira é esta,
Que impudente na gávea tripudia?
Silêncio.  Musa... chora, e chora tanto
Que o pavilhão se lave no teu pranto! ... 

Auriverde pendão de minha terra,
Que a brisa do Brasil beija e balança,
Estandarte que a luz do sol encerra
E as promessas divinas da esperança...
Tu que, da liberdade após a guerra,
Foste hasteado dos heróis na lança
Antes te houvessem roto na batalha,
Que servires a um povo de mortalha!... 

Fatalidade atroz que a mente esmaga!
Extingue nesta hora o brigue imundo
O trilho que Colombo abriu nas vagas,
Como um íris no pélago profundo!
Mas é infâmia demais! ... Da etérea plaga
Levantai-vos, heróis do Novo Mundo!
Andrada! arranca esse pendão dos ares!
Colombo! fecha a porta dos teus mares!

Thursday, 17 October 2013

"Song" by Edgar Allan Poe (in English)


I saw thee on thy bridal day,
  When a burning blush came o'er thee,
Though happiness around thee lay,
  The world all love before thee;

And in thine eye a kindling light
  (Whatever it might be)
Was all on Earth my aching sight
  Of loveliness could see.

That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame:
  As such it well may pass,
Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame
  In the breast of him, alas!

Who saw thee on that bridal day,
  When that deep blush would come o'er thee,
Though happiness around thee lay,
  The world all love before thee.

Wednesday, 16 October 2013

Le Avventure di Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi (in Italian)



Capitolo 1
Come andò che maestro Ciliegia, falegname, trovò un pezzo di legno, che piangeva e rideva come un bambino

C’era una volta...
            — Un re! — diranno subito i miei piccoli lettori.
            No, ragazzi, avete sbagliato. C’era una volta un pezzo di legno.
            Non era un legno di lusso, ma un semplice pezzo da catasta, di quelli che d’inverno si mettono nelle stufe e nei caminetti per accendere il fuoco e per riscaldare le stanze.
         Non so come andasse, ma il fatto gli è che un bel giorno questo pezzo di legno capitò nella bottega di un vecchio falegname, il quale aveva nome mastr’Antonio, se non che tutti lo chiamavano maestro Ciliegia, per via della punta del suo naso, che era sempre lustra e paonazza, come una ciliegia matura.
         Appena maestro Ciliegia ebbe visto quel pezzo di legno, si rallegrò tutto e dandosi una fregatina di mani per la contentezza, borbottò a mezza voce:
         — Questo legno è capitato a tempo: voglio servirmene per fare una gamba di tavolino.
       Detto fatto, prese subito l’ascia arrotata per cominciare a levargli la scorza e a digrossarlo, ma quando fu lì per lasciare andare la prima asciata, rimase col braccio sospeso in aria, perché sentì una vocina sottile, che disse raccomandandosi:
         — Non mi picchiar tanto forte!
Figuratevi come rimase quel buon vecchio di maestro Ciliegia!
       Girò gli occhi smarriti intorno alla stanza per vedere di dove mai poteva essere uscita quella vocina, e non vide nessuno! Guardò sotto il banco, e nessuno; guardò dentro un armadio che stava sempre chiuso, e nessuno; guardò nel corbello dei trucioli e della segatura, e nessuno; apri l’uscio di bottega per dare un’occhiata anche sulla strada, e nessuno! O dunque?...
          — Ho capito; — disse allora ridendo e grattandosi la parrucca, — si vede che quella vocina me la sono figurata io. Rimettiamoci a lavorare.
          E ripresa l’ascia in mano, tirò giù un solennissimo colpo sul pezzo di legno.
          — Ohi! tu m’hai fatto male! — gridò rammaricandosi la solita vocina.
         Questa volta maestro Ciliegia resta di stucco, cogli occhi fuori del capo per la paura, colla bocca spalancata e colla lingua giù ciondoloni fino al mento, come un mascherone da fontana. Appena riebbe l’uso della parola, cominciò a dire tremando e balbettando dallo spavento:
— Ma di dove sarà uscita questa vocina che ha detto ohi?... Eppure qui non c’è anima viva. Che sia per caso questo pezzo di legno che abbia imparato a piangere e a lamentarsi come un bambino? Io non lo posso credere. Questo legno eccolo qui; è un pezzo di legno da caminetto, come tutti gli altri, e a buttarlo sul fuoco, c’è da far bollire una pentola di fagioli... O dunque? Che ci sia nascosto dentro qualcuno? Se c’è nascosto qualcuno, tanto peggio per lui. Ora l’accomodo io!
Figuratevi come rimase quel buon vecchio di maestro Ciliegia!