20 Iun

„John Barleycorn” de Robert Burns

There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
Erau trei regi în răsărit,
Trei regi de stirpe mare,
Jurați pe Johnnie Bob-de-orz
Cumva să îl omoare.

They took a plough and plough‘d him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
Au luat un plug, l-au îngropat,
Pe cap pământ i-au pus
Și au jurat cu jurământ
Că John a fost răpus.
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show‘rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris‘d them all.
Dar când se-ntoarse primăvara
Cu ploaie şi cu spor,
Se ridică iar Bob-de-orz
Spre ciuda tuturor.
The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm‘d wi‘ pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.
Veniră-ai verii sori fierbinţi
Şi prinse John grăsime
Şi suliţi îi crescură-n cap,
Să nu-l înfrunte nime!
The sober Autumn enter‘d mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show‘d he began to fail.
Când pogorî, blând, toamna, John
Se gălbeji la faţă,
Se gârbovi, se cocârjă,
Ca la amurg de viaţă.
His colour sicken‘d more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
Iar când era mai fără vlagă
Şi mai bicisnic John,
Atunci şi-au arătat duşmanii
Grozavul parapon.
They‘ve taen a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
L-au retezat cu un cosor
Lucios și ascuţit
Şi-ntr-o căruţă, ca pe-un hoţ,
Burduf l-au cetluit.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell‘d him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o‘er and o‘er.
L-au prăvălit, l-au ciomăgit,
De-orce puteri l-au stors,
În buza vântului l-au pus,
Şi l-au sucit şi-ntors.
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.
O groapă neagră au umplut
Cu apă-ntunecată
Și-ntr-însa l-au zvârlit pe John
Se-neacă au înoată?
They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe;
And still, as signs of life appear‘d,
They toss‘d him to and fro.
L-au aşternut, ca să-l supună
La cazne, pe arman;
Şi cum clintea, cum năpădeau
Şi-l burduşeau avan.
They wasted, o‘er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us‘d him worst of all,
For he crush‘d him between two stones.
Din oase măduva i-au scos,
L-au pus pe-o vâlvătaie,
Iar un morar, cel mai hapsân,
L-a frânt între pietroaie.
And they hae taen his very heart‘s blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
I-au luat tot sângele şi cana
A mers din mână-n mână
Şi de ce beau, de ce erau
Ei toţi mai îndemână.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
‘Twill make your courage rise.
Erou a fost John Bob-de-orz
Cu inima vitează;
Din sângele-i, un singur strop
Pe om îmbărbătează;
‘Twill make a man forget his woe;
‘Twill heighten all his joy;
‘Twill make the widow‘s heart to sing,
Tho‘ the tear were in her eye.
Îl mângâie pe obidit
Când simte că-i pe ducă:
Pe văduvă o-nveseleşte
Şi lacrima-i usucă.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne‘er fail in old Scotland!
Să închinăm, dar, pentru John,
Cu mâna pe stacană;
Să propăşească John de-a pururi
În ţara scoţiană!
Robert Burns traducere de Leon Levţchi

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