Thursday, 18 October 2012

Poem by the Norwegian writer
Edvard Storm (1749-94)

Home journey from the high pasture

We have done all that was needed,
                  churned the butter, made the cheese,
Now we’ve just to load the horses,
                  lock the hut door, take the keys.
Nor for pagan or for Christian
                  is there any food left o’er,
We are glad we’re homeward wending,
                  gladdest are the cows for sure.

Farewell pasture, that so often
                  was my flowery feather bed,
When at midday tired from labour
                  down on you I flung my head.
Farewell hut! my own dear cabin
                  that oft at my work could stare!
Did you notice owt, I wonder,
                  when my young man saw me there?

Farewell fields cropped close by cattle,
                  where my frequent watch was long;
Farewell woods where echoes rattled
                  from my calling horn and song!
Farewell Huldra, who did dwell here!
                  in my hut you can move in;
Winter’s not for lying outdoors
                  in all weathers and cold wind.

Come now all in these high pastures
                  to the village let’s be gone!
Now the fields are neat and tidy,
                  every straw’s the cattle’s own;
Hurry – folk are waiting down there,
                  Harvest home awaits below;
Nothing more to do up here now;
                  Folk and cattle, off we go!

To see the original poem, go to here.

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