Chorus for Spring
Translation: DeAnna Sherer
Spring, ruler in sunny blue,
High in the mountains and in flowery meadow,
Come here into the narrow confines of the city,
To attend our celebration.
Far from the valley where the Nightingale sings,
Bring to us the sweetest scent of roses,
Cool our brows with soft streams,
So that we may cheerfully celebrate.
Come to greet the magnificent child,
Whom we have gathered here to honor,
When he undulates through these blessed
Streets in budding, graceful stature.
Nestle, spring, to his foot,
Offer him a refreshing salutation of flowers,
Breath of fragrant herbal scent,
Your soul circles in the air.
Elf Song
At night in the village the watchman cried “Eleven!”
A very small elf was asleep in the wood
Just at eleven!
And he thinks that the nightingale
Must have called him by name from the valley,
Or Silpelit might have sent for him.
So the elf rubs his eyes,
Comes out of his snail-shell house,
And is like a drunken man,
His nap was not finished,
And he hobbles down, tip tap,
Through the hazel wood into the valley,
Slips right up to the wall,
There sits the glow-worm, light on light.
“What are those bright windows?
There must be a wedding inside;
The little people are sitting at the feast,
And dancing about in the ballroom.
So I’ll just take a peep in!”
Fie! He hits his head on hard stone!
Well, elf, had enough, have you?
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
The Fire-Rider
Do you see at the window
There again, that red cap?
Something must be the matter
For it is going up and down.
And what a sudden mob
Is now by the bridge near the field!
Hark! The fire-bell is shrilling:
Beyond the hill,
Beyond the hill,
There’s a fire in the mill!
Look, there he goes, galloping furiously
Through the gate, it’s the fire-rider
On his horse, a bony nag
Like a fire-ladder!
Across the fields, through the smoke and heat
He plunges, and he’s already reached his goal!
Over there the bells are pealing,
Beyond the hill,
Beyond the hill,
There’s a fire in the mill!
You who so often smelled fire
From a mile off,
And with a fragment of the holy cross
Maliciously conjured the blaze—
Woe! From the rafters there grins
The Enemy of Man in hellish light.
May God have mercy on your soul!
Beyond the hill,
Beyond the hill,
He is raging in the mill!
Not an hour had passed
Before the mill was reduced to rubble;
But the bold rider
From that hour was never seen again.
People and wagons in crowds
Turn toward home away from all the horror;
And the bell stops ringing:
Beyond the hill,
Beyond the hill,
It’s burning!
Later a miller found
A skeleton together with the cap
Upright against the wall of the cellar
Sitting on the mare of bone:
Fire-rider, how coolly
You ride now to your grave!
Hush! There it falls to ashes.
Rest well,
Rest well,
Down there in the mill!