Waltey
Mrtva ladja iz Harpswella
082 The Dead Ship of Harpswell
Myths and Legends of Our Own Land · Charles M. SkinnerO besedilu
Mrtva ladja iz Harpswella
- Vir
- Myths and Legends of Our Own Land
- Avtor
- Charles M. Skinner
- Jezik branja
- Slovenščina
- Jezik izvirnika
- English
- Čas branja
- 2 min branja
- Obseg
- 1 stran
- Naslov izvirnika
- 082 The Dead Ship of Harpswell
O izvirniku
Myths and Legends of Our Own Land
Obsežna zgodovinska zbirka ameriških legend, ki jih je Skinner zbral in avtorsko rekonstruiral. Bralni jezik je Slovenščina, izvirnik pa prihaja iz vira Myths and Legends of Our Own Land v jeziku English.
Besedilo
Mrtva ladja iz Harpswella
Ribiče v Mainu včasih prestraši prikazen ladje, ki ob sončnem zahodu pluje proti obali; skozi njene deske se kažejo ogolela rebra kakor suhi udi skozi raztrganine v reveževi obleki. Ladja je starinske gradnje, z visokimi jambori in veličastno razpetimi jadri, ki so vsa raztrgana; toda nihče ne zna povedati, kako ji je ime, od kod prihaja, pod katero zastavo pluje in katero pristanišče skuša doseči, saj na njenem krovu še nihče ni videl mornarja, ki bi izobesil zastavo, niti slišal odgovora na klic. Naj bo morje mirno ali razburkano, naj bo plima ali oseka, ladja vztraja na svoji poti, dokler se skoraj ne dotakne obale.
Ni škripanja drogov ne cviljenja vrvi, ni pršenja ob premcu ne valovanja za krmo — ni glasu in ni postave, ki bi ga lahko izustila. Ko se približa skalam, obstane, nato pa, kakor da bi jo gnal nasprotni tok, s krmilom naprej odplava na odprto morje in izgine v somraku. Najraje križari pri Harpswellu in njen prihod tja pripravi marsikoga do zmajevanja z glavo; čeprav njenim obiskom nesreča ne sledi vselej, so ljudje opazili, da so morali kmalu za njimi pristanišče včasih prečkati pogrebni čolni in da so jih veter, plimovanje ali tok ob odhodu s pomola prisilili, da so ubrali isto pot kakor ona.
Izvirnik
082 The Dead Ship of Harpswell
Naslednje strani prikazujejo izvirno besedilo za primerjavo.
At times the fisher-folk of Maine are startled to see the form of a ship, with gaunt timbers showing through the planks, like lean limbs through rents in a pauper's garb, float shoreward in the sunset. She is a ship of ancient build, with tall masts and sails of majestic spread, all torn; but what is her name, her port, her flag, what harbor she is trying to make, no man can tell, for on her deck no sailor has ever been seen to run up colors or heard to answer a hail. Be it in calm or storm, in-come or ebb of tide, the ship holds her way until she almost touches shore.
There is no creak of spars or whine of cordage, no spray at the bow, no ripple at the stern--no voice, and no figure to utter one. As she nears the rocks she pauses, then, as if impelled by a contrary current, floats rudder foremost off to sea, and vanishes in twilight. Harpswell is her favorite cruising-ground, and her appearance there sets many heads to shaking, for while it is not inevitable that ill luck follows her visits, it has been seen that burial-boats have sometimes had occasion to cross the harbor soon after them, and that they were obliged by wind or tide or current to follow her course on leaving the wharf.
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