When I was born, without the sun, my mother said:
“Flower of my womb, noble Homagno,
Sum and reflection of me and of Creation,
Fish that becomes a bird, a charger, and a man,
Look at these two insignia of life I offer you
In pain; consider them and chose.
This is a yoke; he who accepts it enjoys,
Acts like a gentle ox, and when he lends his services
To gentlemen, sleeps on warm straw
And eats delicious, full-grained oats.
This one, oh mystery born of me
Like a mountain peak from a mountain –
This one, that lights and kills, is a star.
Because it sheds its brilliance, sinners
Flee from those who wear it, and in this life
All those who wear the light remain alone
Like monsters burdened by crimes.
But he who easily imitates an ox
Becomes one, and once again starts up the universal
Ladder like a submissive beast.
He who bravely girds himself with the star,
Since he creates, he grows!
When the living one
Empties his cup of liquor on the world;
When, to feed upon the bloody
Fiesta humana, sacó contento y grave
Su propio corazón: cuando a los vientos
De Norte y Sur virtió su voz sagrada,–
La estrella como un manto, en luz lo envuelve,
Se enciende, como a fiesta, el aire claro,
Y el vivo que a vivir no tuvo miedo,
¡Se oye que un paso más sube en la sombra!
–Dame el yugo, oh mi madre, de manera
Que puesto en él de pie, luzca en mi frente
Mejor la estrella que ilumina y mata.
Human feast, he gravely and contentedly tears out
His very heart, and casts his sacred word
To the North wind and the South,
The star envelops him with light as with a cloak,
The limpid air burns bright as at some festival,
And the living one who has no fear of living
Is heard to climb another step into the dark!”
Give me the yoke, oh Mother, so when I firmly
Stand upon it, the star that lights and kills
May better shine forth from my countenance.