 | Prose sketches and poems |  |
[Note F.]
The Mexicans are great improvisators; but their poetry which
they thus manufacture is truly despicable. In the south, I believe,
it is better. They know but little about poetry, or anything else,
in New Mexico, except their catechism; but here is a small article,
which I have heard them sing.
El dulce bien por quien suspiro,
Solo eres tu.
El don supremo a quien aspiro,
Lo tienes tu.
Tienes mi pecho adormecido,
Lo causas tu.
Mira mi llanto enternecido!
Lo enjugas tu.
El tiempo fué de mis pasiones,
Una ilusion;
Y tus ingratos procederes
Lastiman hoi mi corazon.
Adonde estan tus juramentos?
Tu tierno amor, tu firme fe?
Que es de aquel llanto enternecido?
Onde esta? Onde se fné?
The sweet delights for which I sigh,
Alone art thou.
The supreme gift—the mark so high—
That holdest thou.
My heart is sleepless—it is thine—
That causest thou.
Witness this tender grief of mine,
That scornest thou.
My passions' hour has been to me
Illusiveness.
And ah! ingratitude from thee
Tortures the heart it ought to bless.
Where are the oaths which thou hast made—
Thy tender love, faith ne'er to fade—
The impassioned tears, which thou hast shed?
Where are they gone? Where are they fled?
There is a splendid piece of poetry, which one or two men in the
country can sing. The story is, that La Pola was the mistress of
Bolivar. The air to which it is sung is a superb minor, and it always
gave me a thrill at hearing it.
Con la patria su suerte llorad;
A morir por la patria prendamos,
Y su muerte juremos vengar!
Por las calles, y al pie del suplicio,
`Asesinos,' gritaba, `temblad!
Consumad vuestro horrible atentado!
Luego viene quien me ha de vengar.'
Y volviendose al pueblo, le dice:
`Pueblo ingrato! Ya voi espirar,
Por salvar vuestros caros derechos:
Tanta injuria podreis tolerar?
`Un Lapon, un Carib, un Calmue,
Las virtudes sabran respetar:
De Colombia, los hijos valientes,
Solo mueren por su libertad.'
This is not all of it, but it is all which I can remember. I subjoin
a translation, not aiming in it at rhyme.
With her country her fortunes lament;
Learn to die for the rights of your country,
And her death let us swear to revenge!
Through the streets to the foot of the scaffold,
She cried, `Fear and tremble assassins!
Your horrible action consummate;
Soon will come one who is to revenge.'
And, turning to the people, she sayeth:
`Ingrates! I am now to expire,
For saving your rights and your freedom:
Such wrong ye can silently bear?
The virtues, perchance, may respect;
Ye alone, valiant sons of Colombia,
For your freedom are known to expire.'
The reader who has perused the Bravo of our countryman
Cooper, has seen a heading of a chapter in that novel entitled part
of a boat song. It is singular that the New Mexicans have a song
commencing in the same way. I could have had it all written for
me, but not intending, when I left Santa Fe, to come into the
United States, I neglected it. The Spanish song begins thus:
Fideli;'
himself as a fisherman, whose bait `es el amor.'
| Prose sketches and poems | |