Imagen: El capitán Marshall D. Teach, más conocido como "Barbanegra". Grabado de Benjamin Cole para el libro "A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates" (1724), de Daniel Defoe.
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Izad alto en el mástil nuestra
bandera negra.
Negra como la tumba, las olas
sobrevuela.
Despejad la cubierta, que los
cañones se armen,
afilad bien las hachas, que luzcan
los alfanjes,
los botes de metralla tened listos
y dadme,
como última tarea, del polvorín la
llave.
No será nunca arriada nuestra
sombría enseña.
Barreremos el aire si la mar se
nos niega.
De la anterior victoria nuestro
botín aguarda
a que yo lo divida según vuestra prorrata.
Hay chales de la clase que una sultana porta,
y perlas delicadas como la piel que adornan.
Hay exóticos frascos, al
destaparlos brotan
aromas de Diametta, el hogar de
las rosas.
No reclamo mi parte, sólo pido la
gracia
de brindar por el triunfo con un
vino de raza.
Hay quien busca riquezas, y quien
busca la fama.
Aquéllas son fugaces, lo otro
vanas palabras.
Yo lucho por venganza, y mi
sonrisa brilla
al segar con mi sable de un
oficial la vida.
Con cada golpe evoco mi juventud
perdida.
Son de sangre las lágrimas que
mojan mis mejillas.
Como un rojo relámpago, me abatiré con saña
sobre la estirpe que odio, en mi amada
batalla.
Y aquí está el poema original:
THE PIRATE’S SONG
To the mast nail our flag, it is dark as the grave,
Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o'er the wave.
Let our deck clear for action, our guns be prepared;
Be the boarding-axe sharpen’d, the cimetar bared;
Set the canisters ready, and then bring to me,
For the last of my duties, the powder-room key.
Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o'er the wave.
Let our deck clear for action, our guns be prepared;
Be the boarding-axe sharpen’d, the cimetar bared;
Set the canisters ready, and then bring to me,
For the last of my duties, the powder-room key.
It shall never be lower’d, the black flag we bear;
If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air.
If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air.
Unshared have we left our last victory's prey;
It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey.
There are shawls that might suit a sultana's white neck,
And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck;
There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose
Diametta's fair summers, the home of the rose.
I claim not a portion: I ask but as mine,
'Tis to drink to our victory – one cup of red wine.
It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey.
There are shawls that might suit a sultana's white neck,
And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck;
There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose
Diametta's fair summers, the home of the rose.
I claim not a portion: I ask but as mine,
'Tis to drink to our victory – one cup of red wine.
Some fight, 'tis for riches; some fight, 'tis for
fame:
The first I despise, and the last is a name.
I fight, 'tis for vengeance. I love to see flow,
At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe.
I strike for the memory of long vanish’d years;
I only shed blood, where another sheds tears.
I come, as the lightning comes red from above,
O'er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.
The first I despise, and the last is a name.
I fight, 'tis for vengeance. I love to see flow,
At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe.
I strike for the memory of long vanish’d years;
I only shed blood, where another sheds tears.
I come, as the lightning comes red from above,
O'er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L.E.L.), 1838
Muy interesante! Te quedó redondo.Lupe.
ResponderEliminar¡Gracias, Lupe!
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