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Eu ben vin estar o moucho
enriba daquel penedo.
¡Non che teño medo, moucho;
moucho, non che teño medo!
I
Unha noite, noite negra
como os pesares que eu teño,
noite filla das sombrisas
alas que estenden os medos;
hora en que cantan os galos,
hora en que xemen os ventos;
en que as meigas bailan, bailan,
xuntas co demo pirmeiro,
arrincando verdes robres,
portas e tellas fendendo,
todas de branco vestidas,
tendido-los brancos pelos
contra quen os cans oubean
agoirando triste enterro;
cando relumbrar se miran
antre os toxales espesos,
cal encendidas candeas
ollos de lobo famento;
e os ramallaxes dos montes
antre sí murmuxan quedos,
e as follas secas que espallan
os aires da noite inquietos,
en remuíños se xuntan
con longo estremecemento,
indo camiño da igrexa,
soia cos meus pensamentos,
cabo da fonte da Virxe,
pretiño do cimeterio,
dempóis de sentir un sopro
que me deixóu sin alento,
eu ben vin estar o moucho
enriba daquel penedo.
II
Arrepuiñadas todas
as carnes se me puñeron,
e os cabelos no curuto
fóronse erguendo direitos;
gotas de sudor corrían
a fío polo meu peito,
e trembaba como tremban
as augas cando fai vento,
na pía da fonte nova,
que sempre está revertendo.
Aquel moucho alí ficando,
cal si fose o mesmo demo,
fito a fito me miraba
cos seus ollos rapiñeiros,
que coidéi que me roubaban
non máis que de lonxe velos.
De lume me paresían
e que me queimaron penso;
penso que eran tizós roxos
da fogueira dos infernos,
que polas niñas me entraron
hastra o corazón dereitos.
En el remorsos había
de amoriños pecadentos...
¡Ai, que ten deses amores,
non pode achar bon sosiego!
Chovía si Dios ten augua,
ventaba en todo-los ventos,
e ensarrapicada toda
a camiñar non me atrevo;
que o moucho, fita que fita,
me aspera naquel penedo;
mais acordéime da Virxe
que sempre conmigo levo;
résolle un Ave-María,
e cobrando novo alento,
como os páxaros do mare,
nadando paso o regueiro,
corro a enriba do valado,
brinco en baixo do portelo,
e dende alí berro estonces
con cantas forzas eu teño:
¡Non che teño medo, moucho;
moucho, non che teño medo!
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I plainly saw the little owl perched
Atop that rocky outcrop.
I'm not afraid of you, little owl!
Little owl, I'm not afraid of you!
I
Once upon a night, night as black
As the burdens I bear,
Night daughter of the dark wings
That spread feelings of fear,
On the hour when the roosters sing,
On the hour when the winds groan,
When the witches dance, dance
Alongside the foremost devil,
Uprooting green oak trees,
Tearing out roof tiles and doors—
The witches all dressed in white,
Their white hair flaring out,
At whom the dogs howl
Foreboding sad interment—
When among the compact gorse-bushes
Can be seen gleaming
Like lit candles
The eyes of the hungry wolf,
And the masses of foliage on the hills
Murmur to each other low,
And the dry leaves scattered
By the unsettled airs of the night
Cluster together in whirlwinds
Of long-lasting shudder,
Going by way of the church,
Alone with my thoughts,
Just past the fountain of Our Lady,
Quite close to the cemetery,
After feeling a gust
That took my breath away,
I plainly saw the little owl perched
Atop that rocky outcrop.
II
Goose bumps spread
All over my body,
And the hairs on my crown
Steadily bristled;
Drops of sweat trickled
Steadily down my bosom,
And I quivered as quivers
The water when the wind blows
Upon the bowl of the new fountain
That is always overflowing.
That little owl abiding there,
As if it were the very devil,
Stared hard at me
With its scavenging eyes;
I surmised they preyed on me
From the moment I saw them afar.
To me they seemed made of fire
And I suppose they seared me;
I suppose they were crimson firebrands
From hells' bonfire
Which entered through the pupils
And went straight to the heart.
There was in it remorse
Of illicit sweet loves...
Ah, whoever has such loves
Can not find good repose!
It rained if God does store water,
It blew in all the winds,
And drenched to the bone
I dare not take another step,
For the little owl, staring hard,
Waits for me on that rocky outcrop;
But I remembered Our Lady
Whose keepsake I carry always with me,
I say a Hail Mary,
And regaining my breath,
I cross the brook, swimming
Like a seabird,
I race up onto the stonewall cap,
I jump down to beneath the narrow gate,
And from there I shout then
With all my strength:
I'm not afraid of you, little owl!
Little owl, I'm not afraid of you!
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