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Erlkönig.
Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.
⹂Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang' dein Gesicht?” —
⹂Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron' und Schweif?” —
⹂Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif.” —
⹂Du liebes Kind, komm, geh' mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand;
Meine Mutter hat manch' gülden Gewand.” —
⹂Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?”
⹂Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind!
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind.” —
⹂Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir geh'n?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön,
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reih'n
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein.” —
⹂Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?”
⹂Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh' es genau,
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau.”
⹂Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt!
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch' ich Gewalt.” —
⹂Mein Vater, mein Vater, jekt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leid's gethan!” —
Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in den Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Mühe und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.
Goethe.
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For the Scots Magazine.
THE ERL-KING.*
From the German.
*
AFTER the numerous tranſlations from
the German which have appeared in this
country, we conceive it to be needleſs to
illuſtrate the popular mythology of the
Erl-King, or ſpirit of the woods, according to
the Germans. The beautiful German ſong
of the Erlkoning, has been tranſlated by
Mr Lewis, the ingenious author of the
Monk, and other performances, and by
Mr Taylor of Norwich, the original
tranſlator of the celebrated Lenore. For the
following verſion, which was executed before
the publication of any of thoſe we have
mentioned, we are indebted to a Scotiſh
literary gentleman, whom we do not heſitate to
place at the head of thoſe who have cultivated
this ſpecies of poetry in this country.
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Gaslight note:
in correspondence, dated 1797, Walter Scott claims
this translation as his own, but also that he
had read the one by Matthew Lewis. [cf.]
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O! who rides by night thro' the woodlands ſo wild?
It is the fond fond father embracing his child,
And cloſe the boy neſtles within his loved arm
From the blaſt of the tempeſt, to keep himſelf warm.
"O Father! ſee yonder! ſee yonder!" he ſays. —
"My boy, upon what doſt thou fearfully gaze? —
"O! tis the Erl-King, with his ſtaff and his shroud!" —
"No, my love! it is but a dark wreath of the cloud. —
The Phantom Speaks.
"O! wilt thou go with me, thou lovelieſt child!
"By many a gay ſport ſhall thy hours be beguil'd;
"My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy,
"And many a fine flower ſhall ſhe pluck for my boy." —
"O Father! my Father! and did you not hear
"The Erl-King whiſper ſo cloſe in my ear?" —
"Be ſtill my loved darling, my child be at eaſe!
"It was but the wild blaſt as it howl'd thro' the trees." —
The Phantom.
"O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy!
"My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy;
"She shall bear thee ſo lightly thro' wet and thro' wild,
"And hug thee, and kiſs thee, and ſing to my child." —
"O Father! my Father! and ſaw you not plain,
"The Erl-King's pale daughter glide paſt thro' the rain? —
"O no; my heart's treaſure! I knew it full ſoon,
It was the grey willow, that danc'd to the moon." —
The Phantom.
"Come with me, come with me, no longer delay,
"Or elſe, ſilly child, I will drag thee away. —
"O Father! O Father! now, now, keep your hold!
"The Erl-King has ſeized me — his graſp is ſo cold." —
Sore trembles the Father; he ſpurs thro' the wild,
Claſping cloſe to his boſom his ſhuddering child;
He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread;
But, claſped to his boſom, the infant was dead!
E. F.
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The Erl King
English version by
MAX HEINRICH.
Who rides through the night in storm so wild?
It is a father with his child;
He holds the boy safe in his arm,
He guards and shields him from all harm.
"My son, why hid'st thou in fear thy sweet face?"
See'st, father, thou the Erl-king? Alas!
The dreaded Erl-king, with crown and plumes?"
"My son t'is a shape the mist assumes."
"Thou lovely child, come thou with me!
I'll pass the hours in playing with thee,
The sweetest blossoms for thee shall grow,
And glitt'ring raiment to thee I'll show."
"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
what Erl-king whispers into mine ear?"
"Be silent, o be silent my child;
Through bared branches the storm moans wild."
Thou dear sweet child, wilt thou come with me
where wond'rous games I'll play with thee?
Where their nightly revels my daughter keep
and swaying and dancing shall sing thee to sleep,
And swaying and dancing shall sing thee to sleep."
"My father, my father, look! yonder I see
the Erl-king's daughters on darksome lee!"
"My son, my son, I see it quite well,
The old willow trees their secrets tell."
I love thee child, I long for thy beauteous form,
And art thou not willing I'll take thee by storm!"
My father, my father, he now holds me fast,
Erl-king has done me a harm at last!"
The father trembles, he rides on like wild,
He clasps to his bosom the wan, moaning child;
He reaches home in fear and dread;
Alas the child in his arms was dead.
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