Posts Tagged ‘fragment’

The Giaour

Posted: septembrie 20, 2011 by ForSaKeN in Poezie
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The Giaour

by Lord Byron

A turban carved in coarsest stone,
A pillar with rank weeds o’ergrown,
Whereon can now be scarcely read
The Koran verse that mourns the dead,
Point out the spot where Hassan fell
A victim in that lonely dell.
There sleeps as true an Osmanlie
As e’er at Mecca bent the knee;
As ever scorn’d forbidden wine,
Or pray’d with face towards the shrine,
In orisons resumed anew
At solemn sound of „Alla Hu!”
Yet died he by a stranger’s hand,
And stranger in his native land;
Yet died he as in arms he stood,
And unavenged, at least in blood.
But him the maids of Paradise
Impatient to their halls invite,
And the dark Heaven of Houris’ eyes
On him shall glance for ever bright;
They come–their kerchiefs green they wave,
And welcome with a kiss the brave!
Who falls in battle ‘gainst a Giaour
Is worthiest an immortal bower.

But thou, false Infidel! shall writhe
Beneath avenging Monkir’s scythe;
And from its torments ‘scape alone
To wander round lost Eblis’ throne;
And fire unquench’d, unquenchable,
Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;
Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell
The tortures of that inward hell!
But first, on earth as Vampire sent,
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race;
There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life;
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce
Must feed thy livid living corse:
Thy victims ere they yet expire
Shall know the demon for their sire,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are withered on the stem.
But one that for thy crime must fall,
The youngest, most beloved of all,
Shall bless thee with a father’s name–
That word shall wrap thy heart in flame!
Yet must thou end thy task, and mark
Her cheek’s last tinge, her eye’s last spark,
And the last glassy glance must view
Which freezes o’er its lifeless blue;
Then with unhallow’d hand shalt tear
The tresses of her yellow hair,
Of which in life a lock when shorn
Affection’s fondest pledge was worn,
But now is borne away by thee,
Memorial of thine agony!
Wet with thine own best blood shall drip
Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip;
Then stalking to thy sullen grave,
Go–and with Gouls and Afrits rave;
Till these in horror shrink away
From Spectre more accursed than they!

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Autorul prezinta si o imagine a lui Vlad Tepes, una ce reiese din documentele atentate ce circulau pe vremea contesei E. Bathory, dar pe care istoria romanilor o contesta in anumite puncte.

Atunci, pare-se ca Erzsebet asculta adesea legende despre un personaj care traise cu un secol in urma. Ruda venea din Transilvania, mai exact de dupa muntii Fagarasi [era de fapt vorba de Valahia, dar hartile lor erau incorecte.]
Legenda vorbea despre un mare luptator numit Vlad Tepes, cunoscut si ca Vlad Dracula. Avea doi frati, Radu si Mircea, care luptau alaturi de el impotriva turcilor. Tatal lor, cel mai faimos Vlad de pana atunci, s-a infruntat cu Ioan Hunyadi, guvernatorul Ungariei, care l-a invins si l-a pus pe tron pe Vladislav I, un voievod aliat. Atat Vlad cat si fratele sau Radu au fost capturati de turci si dusi in captivitate undeva in Anatolia. A stat acolo prizonier cativa ani, dar in cele din urma a reusit sa fie rascumparat cu o cantitate de aur si odoare. De-abia dupa ce s-a intors in Transilvania, personalitatea sangeroasa a lui Vlad Tepes – care de altfel era un crestin fanatic si asista la slujba ori de cate ori avea ocazia – si-a castigat trista celebritate. Cu prizonierii pe care-i captura, caci apucase sa stranga alta armata bine pusa la punct, facea ceea ce vazuse la otomani: ii tragea de vii in teapa, lasandu-i sa moara incet si in chinuri groaznice. De aceea a fost numit „Tepes”. Mii de victime si-au gasit sfarsitul in acest mod crud.
Cert e ca a pustiit sate intregi de plugari si tarani, ca a jefuit si a ucis. Orice motiv era bun: ca gazduise-ra sau hranise-ra vreun turc, lucru care, daca era adevarat, se facuse precis sub amenintare. Dar astea n-avea nici o importanta. Pedeapsa era mereu buna, i se parea necesara.
Dupa asemenea marsavii, pentru a-si demonstra credinta crestina, se ducea la biserica cu mare fast. Se zvonea ca bause sange de la dusmanii sai, dar de fapt nu a fost confirmat. Nu era stilul lui. El decima si ucidea in numele lui Hristos, e greu de crezut ca s-ar fi bagat in practici nelegiuite. Razboiul e razboi, iar credinta e cu totul altceva.

[pagina 146, „Contesa Dracula” de Javier Garcia Sanchez]