Quién como tú feliz, Niáguara undoso!
¡Quien como tu glorioso!
Mas a pesar de tu grandeza suma,
A pesar de tu insólita belleza,
De un trueno, y tu vórtice, y tu bruma,
A pesar de tu indómita fiereza
Y tu poder sin nombre,
Tu no eres mas que yo, ni mas que el hombre
Tu eres la imagen viva
De la proscrita humanidad altiva;
Tu eres el hombre mismo
En escala aumentada,
Por eso, cuan ansioso de adueñarme
Del secreto del sér bajé a tu abismo,
¿pudiste acaso darme la clave deseada?...
Nada supiste responderme, nada;
Que lo que el hombre ignora
Lo ignoras tu también:
Tras el radiante
Velo de tu hermosura arrobadora
Escondes tu la de mortal mirada
Tu musgo, tu pantano,
Tu limo y tus horribles asperezas;
Y el infeliz humano,
Detrás de sus quiméricas grandezas,
Oculta, agonizante,
La inocencia perdida
Y el fango y las miserias de la vida!
Tú sales rumoroso, azul, sereno,
De las fuentes del río,
Y luego impetuoso y desbordado,
Te despeñas, colérico, en el seno
Del abismo sombrío;
Así el niño mimado
Sale puro, inocente,
Del bajo el ala maternal; mas luego,
El pecado lo arrastra con su corrientes
De calcinante fuego,
Y víctima del mal y las pasiones,
Rueda al fin, inconsciente,
Del dolor a las lóbregas regiones
Man and abyss
Who like you happy, Niáguara undoso!
Who like thee glorious!
But in spite of thy supreme greatness,
In spite of thy unusual beauty,
Of thunder, and thy vortex, and thy mist,
In spite of thy untamed fierceness
And thy nameless power,
Thou art not more than I, nor more than man.
Thou art the living image
Of the outlawed haughty humanity;
Thou art man himself
On an enlarged scale,
Therefore, how anxious to take possession
Of the secret of being I descended into thy abyss,
Couldst thou, perchance, give me the key?
You could answer me nothing, nothing;
That what man ignores
You ignore it too:
Behind the radiant
Veil of your ravishing beauty
You hide your mortal gaze
Thy moss, thy swamp,
Thy slime and thy horrible roughness;
And the unhappy human,
Behind his chimerical grandeurs,
Hides, agonizing,
The innocence lost
And the mire and miseries of life!
Thou comest forth murmuring, blue, serene,
From the fountains of the river,
And then impetuous and overflowing,
Thou plungest, choleric, into the bosom
Of the dark abyss;
Thus the spoiled child
Comes forth pure, innocent,
From beneath the motherly wing; but then,
Sin drags him with its streams
Of burning fire,
And victim of evil and passions,
It rolls at last, unconscious,
From pain to the dreary regions!
Tú tienes tus vapores deslumbrantes,
Tus nubes ondulantes
Que, audaces, un momento el aire hienden
Por subir el azul, y al fin cansadas,
Tras vano batallar, raudas descienden
En gotas sin color al centro frío;
También el hombre tiene sus doradas,
Flotantes ilusiones,
Sus locas ambiciones
Que lanza, alucinando, en el vacío
De sus sueños quiméricos; vapores
Que luego bajan en lluvia de dolores,
En lágrimas heladas a su frente!...
Tu tienes estridente,
Fatídico rugido,
Tus almas, tus cavernas,
En donde el viento brama,
En donde da la ola
Con el lúgubre gemido;
En el alma del hombre
Desesperada y sola,
Tienen también su nido
La duda, las internas
Rebeliones sin nombre;
El ara húmeda y fría
Do la apagada llama
De la fe de un tiempo ardía;
Cenizas de memorias
Ya en fango transformadas,
De sueños y glorias,
De cerúleos amores,
De esperanzas rosadas,
De apariciones blondas...
Simas tal vez mas hondas
Que todos tus horrores!
Tú ostentas en tu frente majestuosa
El iris luminoso de los celos
Que en círculo te ciñe, cual diadema
De oro y zafir, y de esmeralda y rosa!
Y al hombre triste en medio de los duelos
De su lucha suprema,
Lo corona en señal de nueva alianza
El iris del amor y de la esperanza!
Thou hast thy dazzling vapors,
Thy billowing clouds
Which, bold, for a moment cleave the air
To rise the blue, and at last weary,
After vain struggle, swiftly they descend
In colorless drops to the cold center;
Man too has his golden ones,
Floating illusions,
His mad ambitions
Which he hurls, hallucinating, into the void
Of his chimerical dreams; vapors
Which then descend in rain of pains,
In icy tears to his forehead!...
Thou hast strident,
Fateful roar,
Your souls, your caverns,
Where the wind roars,
Where the wave gives
With mournful moaning;
In the soul of man
Desperate and alone,
They also have their nest
Doubt, internal
Nameless rebellions;
The damp and cold ara
Where the extinguished flame
Of the faith of a time burned;
Ashes of memories
Already transformed into mire,
Of dreams and glories,
Of cerulean loves,
Of rosy hopes,
Of soft apparitions...
Chasms perhaps deeper
Than all your horrors!
You flaunt on your majestic forehead
The luminous iris of jealousy
Which in a circle girdles thee, like a diadem
Of gold and sapphire, and emerald and rose!
And to the sad man in the midst of his duels
Of his supreme struggle,
It crowns him in token of a new alliance
The iris of love and hope!
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