(Lord Byron e Castro Alves)
AS TREVAS
(Traduzido de Lord Byron)
A meu amigo, o dr. Franco Meireles, inspirado
tradutor das Melodias Hebraicas
Tive um sonho que em tudo não foi sonho!...
O sol brilhante se apagara: e os astros,
do eterno espaço na penumbra escura,
sem raios, e sem trilhos, vagueavam.
A terra fria balouçava cega
e tétrica no espaço ermo de lua.
A manhã ia, vinha... e regressava...
Mas não trazia o dia! Os homens pasmos
esqueciam no horror dessas ruínas
suas paixões. E as almas conglobadas
gelavam-se num grito de egoísmo
que demandava "luz". Junto às fogueiras
abrigavam-se... e os tronos e os palácios,
os palácios dos reis, o albergue e a choça
ardiam por fanais. Tinham nas chamas
as cidades morrido. Em torno às brasas
dos seus lares os homens se grupavam,
pra à vez extrema se fitarem juntos.
Feliz de quem vivia junto às lavas
dos vulcões sob a tocha alcantilada!
Hórrida esp'rança acalentava o mundo!
As florestas ardiam!... de hora em hora
caindo se apagavam; crepitando,
lascado o trono desabava em cinzas.
e tudo... tudo as trevas envolviam.
As frontes ao clarão da luz doente
tinham do inferno o aspecto... Quando às vezes
as faíscas das chamas borrifavam-nas.
Uns, de bruços no chão, tapando os olhos
choravam. Sobre as mãos cruzadas — outros —
firmando a barba, desvairados riam.
Outros correndo à toa procuravam
o ardente pasto pra funéreas piras.
Inquietos, no esgar do desvario,
os olhos levantavam pra o céu torvo,
vasto sudário do universo — espectro —,
e após em terra se atirando em raivas,
rangendo os dentes, blasfemos, uivavam!
Lúgubre grito os pássaros selvagens
soltavam, revoando espavoridos
num vôo tonto co’as inúteis asas!
As feras ’stavam mansas e medrosas!
As víboras rojando s’enroscavam
pelos membros dos homens, sibilantes,
mas sem veneno... a fome lhes matavam!
E a guerra, que um momento s’extinguira,
de novo se fartava. Só com sangue
comprava-se o alimento, e após à parte
cada um se sentava taciturno,
pra fartar-se nas trevas infinitas!
Já não havia amor!... O mundo inteiro
era um só pensamento, e o pensamento
era a morte sem glória e sem detença!
O estertor da fome apascentava-se
nas entranhas... Ossada ou carne pútrida
ressupino, insepulto era o cadáver.
Mordiam-se entre si os moribundos:
mesmo os cães se atiravam sobre os donos,
todo exceto um só... que defendia
o cadáver do seu, contra os ataques
dos pássaros, das feras e dos homens,
até que a fome os extinguisse, ou fossem
os dentes frouxos saciar algures!
Ele mesmo alimento não buscava...
Mas, gemendo num uivo longo e triste
morreu lambendo a mão, que inanimada
já não podia lhe pagar o afeto.
Faminta a multidão morrera aos poucos.
Escaparam dous homens tão-somente
de uma grande cidade. E se odiavam.
... Foi junto dos tições quase apagados
de um altar, sobre o qual se amontoaram
sacros objetos pra um profano uso,
que encontraram-se os dous... e, as cinzas mornas
reunindo nas mãos frias dos espectros,
de seus sopros exaustos ao bafejo
uma chama irrisória produziram!...
Ao clarão que tremia sobre as cinzas
olharam-se e morreram dando um grito.
mesmo da própria hediondez morreram,
desconhecendo aquele em cuja fronte
traçara a fome o nome de Duende!
O mundo fez-se um vácuo. A terra esplêndida,
populosa tornou-se numa massa
sem estações, sem árvores, sem erva,
sem verdura, sem homens e sem vida,
caos de morte, inanimada argila!
Calaram-se o oceano, o rio, os lagos!
Nada turbava a solidão profunda!
Os navios no mar apodreciam
sem marujos! Os mastros desabando
dormiam sobre o abismo, sem que ao menos
uma vaga na queda alevantassem.
Tinham morrido as vagas! e jaziam
as marés no seu túmulo... antes delas
a lua que as guiava era já morta!
No estagnado céu murchara o vento;
esvaíram-se as nuvens. E nas trevas
era só trevas o universo inteiro.
Darkness
(George Gordon, Lord Byron)
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought—and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails—men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress—he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,
And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects—saw, and shriek'd, and died—
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—
A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge—
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them—She was the Universe.
