The Stolen Child, de W.B. Yeats, música de The Waterboys

13, enero, 2006 at 11:52 pm (Uncategorized)


Ésta es una de mis canciones favoritas de Mike Scott & The Waterboys, de su álbum “Fisherman’s Blues”. El poema es uno de los más hermosos de William Butler Yeats, el poeta mago y amante de las hadas; precisamente, trata aquí sobre los niños robados por las hadas, aquéllos que eran cambiados por hadas ancianas y que al poco se morían (una forma que siempre he encontrado enormemente poética en su fondo, de explicar las muertes súbitas de los bebés). Sus poesías son realmente fascinantes, y algunas guardan “ocultos secretos” de sus saberes mágicos. Un hombre fascinante, y una música bellísima.

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen chetries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s morefull of weeping than you
can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s morefully of weeping than you
can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To to waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For to world’s morefully of weeping than you
can understand.

Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For be comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
from a world more full of weeping than you.

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