.
VR
The Vampire Database

Strigoiul
: The Vampire Database : Poetry :

[ EDIT THIS ENTRY ]



Near the cliff's sharp edge, on high
Standing out against the sky,
Dost thou see a ruined cross
Weatherstained, o'ergrown by moss,
Gloomy, desolate, forsaken,
By unnumbered tempests shaken?

Not a blade of grass grows nigh it,
Not a peasant lingers by it.
E'en the sombre bird of night
Shuns it in her darksome flight,
Startled by the piteous groan
That arises from the stone.

All around, on starless nights,
Myriad hosts of livid lights
Flicker fretfully, revealing
At its foot a phantom, kneeling
Whilst it jabbers dismal plaints,
Cursing God and all the saints.

Tardy traveller, beware
Of that spectre gibbering there;
Close your eyes, and urge your steed
To the utmost of his speed;--
For beneath that cross, I ween,
Lies a Vampyre's corpse obscene!

Though the night is black and cold
Love's found story, often told,
Floats in whispers through the air,
Stalwart youth and maiden fair
Seal sweet vows of ardent passion
With their lips, in lovers' fashion.

"Restless, pale, a shape I see
Hov'ring nigh; what may it be?
'Tis a charger, white as snow,
Pacing slowly to and fro
Like a sentry. As he turns
Haughtily the sward he spurns.

"Leave me not, beloved, tonight!
Stay with me till morning's light!'
Weeping, thus besought the maid;
'Love, my soul is sore afraid!
Brave not the dread Vampyre's power,
Mightiest at this mystic hour!'

Not a word he spake, but prest
The sobbing maiden to his breast;
Kissed her lips and cheeks and eyes
Heedless of her tears and sighs;
Waved his hand, with gesture gay,
Mounted--smiled--and rode away.

We rides across the dusky plain
Tearing along with might and main
Like some wild storm-fiend, in his flight
Nursed on the ebony breast of Night?
'Tis he, who left her in her need--
Her lover, on his milk-white steed!

The blast in all its savage force
Strives to o'erthrow the gallant horse
That snorts defiance to his foe
And struggles onward. See! below
The causeway, 'long the river-side
A thousand flutt'ring flamelets glide!

Now they approach, and now recede,
Still followed by the panting steed;
He nears the ruined cross! A crash,
A piteous cry, a heavy splash,
And in the rocky river-bed
Rider and horse lie crushed and dead.
Then from those dismal depths arise
Blaspheming yells and strident cries
Re-echoing through the murky air
And, like a serpent from its lair,
Brandishing high a blood-stained glaive
The Vampyre rises from his grave!


***



Here is the poem in the original Romanian language:


În prăpastia cea mare,
Unde vântul cu turbare
Suflă trist, înfricoşat,
Vezi o cruce dărâmată
Ce de vânt e clătinată,
Clătinată ne-ncetat?

Împrejur iarba nu creşte
Şi pe dânsa nu-şi opreşte
Nici o pasăre-al ei zbor;
Că sub dânsa-n orice vreme
Cu durere jalnic geme,
Geme-un glas îngrozitor.

Când e noapte fără stele,
Mii de flăcări albăstrele
Se văd tainic fluturând,
Şi prin ele crunt deodată
O fantasmă se arată,
Se arată blestemând.

Călător nenorocite,
Fugi de-acele căi pocite
De ţi-e calul de bun soi,
Că-n mormântul fără pace
Şi sub cruce-acolo zace,
Zace singur un strigoi!

*


Într-o noapte-ntunecată
Dulce şoaptă-namorată
Prin văzduh încet zbura.
Două umbre sta în vale,
Ce, cuprinse-n dulce jale,
Amor vecinic îşi jura.

Iar pe-o culme-n depărtare
Se vedea mişcând la zare
Un cal alb, copil de vânt;
Coamele-i erau zburlite,
Ş-a lui sprintene copite
Săpau urme pe pământ.

Nu te duce, nu, bădiţă!
(Zicea blânda copiliţă

Cu ochi plânşi, cu glas pătruns)
Ah! te jur pe sfânta cruce!
Stai cu mine, nu te duce...
Dar voinicul n-a răspuns;

Ci, strângând-o cu-nfocare,
După-o dulce sărutare,
Repede s-a depărtat
Şi, sărind cu veselie
Pe-al său cal de voinicie,
În văzduh s-a afundat.

*


Cine-aleargă pe câmpie
Ca un duh de vijelie
Într-al nopţii negru sân?
Cine fuge, cine trece
Pe la ceasul doisprezece?...
Un cal alb, cu-al său stăpân!

Vântul bate, vâjâieşte,
Falnic calul se izbeşte,
De se-ntrec ca doi voinici.
Dar prin neguri iată, iată
Că lucesc pe câmp deodată
Mii de focurele mici.

Ele zbor, se depărtează.
Zboară calul, le urmează,
Păşind iute către mal.
Stai, opreşte!... de pe stâncă,
În prăpastia adâncă
Au picat stăpân şi cal!

Şi-de-atunci în fund s-aude
Gemete, blăstemuri crude
Care trec pe-al nopţii vânt.
Şi de-atunci ades s-arată
O fantasmă-nfricoşată
Care iese din mormânt!

1845, Mânjina


Vasile Alecsandri, (21 July 1821–22 August 1890) was a Romanian poet, playwright, politician, and diplomat. He collected Romanian folk songs and was one of the principal animators of the 19th century movement for Romanian cultural identity and union of Moldavia and Wallachia.


Date Added: January 13, 2009
Added By: Dragonrouge
Times Viewed: 3,623






Times Rated:430
Rating:9.794

Rate this entry

 LOW HIGH 
 
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Optional comment:





LadyAtanasya
LadyAtanasya
04:26
Oct 12, 2021

Rated

EstrangedOne
EstrangedOne
07:55
Oct 03, 2021

Rated

ThanaNight
ThanaNight
02:00
Sep 02, 2021

Rated




COMPANY
REQUEST HELP
CONTACT US
SITEMAP
REPORT A BUG
UPDATES
LEGAL
TERMS OF SERVICE
PRIVACY POLICY
DMCA POLICY
REAL VAMPIRES LOVE VAMPIRE RAVE
© 2004 - 2021 Vampire Rave
All Rights Reserved.
Vampire Rave is a member of 
Page generated in 0.0565 seconds.
X
Username:

Password:
I agree to Vampire Rave's Privacy Policy.
I agree to Vampire Rave's Terms of Service.
I agree to Vampire Rave's DMCA Policy.
I agree to Vampire Rave's use of Cookies.
•  SIGN UP •  GET PASSWORD •  GET USERNAME  •
X