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Song of Durin (tłumaczenie na portugalski)

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Song of Durin

The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.
 
The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty Kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day.
 
A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shown forever far and bright.
 
There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There blade was forged and bound the hilt;
The delver mined the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in horde.
 
Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.
 
The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.
 
tłumaczenie na portugalskiportugalski
Wyrówna akapity

Canção de Durin

O mundo jovem, verde o monte,
E limpa era da lua a fronte;
Sem peia pedra e rio então,
Vagava Durin na solidão.
A monte e vale nomes deu,
De fonte nova ele bebeu,
No Lago-espelho, foi se mirar
E viu um diadema estelar,
Gemas em linha prateada,
Sobre a fronte ensombreada.
 
O mundo belo, os montes altos,
Nos Dias antigos sem sobressaltos
Em Gondolin e Nargothrond,
Dos fortes reis que agora vão
No Mar do Oeste além do dia:
Belo o mundo que Durin via.
 
Rei era ele em trono entalhado,
Salão de pedra encolunado,
No teto ouro, prata no chão,
E as fortes runas no portão.
A luz da lua, de estrela e sol
Presa em lâmpada de cristal,
Por noite ou nuvem não tolhida,
Brilhava bela toda a vida.
 
Lá martelava-se a bigorna,
Lá se esculpia a letra que orna;
Lá se forjavam punho e espada,
Abria-se a mina, erguia-se a casa.
Perla, berilo e opala bela,
Metal plasmado feito tela,
Broquel, couraça, punhal, machado,
Lança em monte, tudo guardado.
 
O povo então não se cansava;
Toda a montanha retumbava
Ao som de harpas e canções
E trombetas junto aos portões.
 
O mundo é cinza, velho o monte,
Da forja o fogo em cinza insonte;
Sem som de harpa ou martelada:
No lar de Durin, sombra e nada.
Sobre a tumba raio nenhum
Em Moria, em Khazad-dûm.
Mas inda há estrela que reluz
No Lago-espelho, sem vento e luz.
A sua corôa no lago fundo,
E Durin dorme sono profundo.
 
Dzięki!
Udostępniono przez Metal GirlMetal Girl dnia sob., 24/10/2020 - 03:14
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Fonte:
O Senhor dos Anéis: A Sociedade do Anel
Autor: J. R. R. Tolkien
Editora: Martins Fontes (1994)
Traduzido por: Lenita Maria Rímoli Esteves; Almiro Pisetta
ISBN: 85-336-1337-7

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