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À l'origine, et malgré son titre trompeur en français, La belle dame sans merci est une ballade écrite par le poète anglais John Keats en 1819. Cette dame a grandement inspiré, autant les musiciens de la belle Angleterre que ses peintres. Elle est l'un des sujets de prédilection de ceux qui appartenaient au mouvement pré-raphaélite. Sir Frank Dicksee l'a peinte, John William Waterhouse aussi. Et quelques autres également.

Je vous proposais La belle dame sans merci d'Angelo Branduardi dans le sujet qui lui est consacré. Je vous propose ici un hommage à Keats plus fidèle, de Jim McCarty (Yardbirds). Il y récite le poème sur une belle musique. L'enregistrement date de 1996, on le retrouve sur l'album Gothic Dreams, de son groupe de l'époque, Pilgrim.

Jim McCarty (Pilgrim) - La belle dame sans merci
http://www.rock6070.com/MP3/Pilgrim_La_ ... _Merci.mp3





La Belle Dame Sans Merci
(John Keats)

I

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

II

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

III

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

IV

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

V

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.

VI

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

VII

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said -
'I love thee true.'

VIII

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gazed, and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
So kiss'd to sleep.

IX

And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd - Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill side.

X

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried - 'La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!'

XI

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.

XII

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.