Moderen med Barnet
Hist, hvor Veien slaaer en Bugt,
Ligger der et Huus saa smukt.
Væggene lidt skjæve staae,
Ruderne er ganske smaa,
Døren synker halvt i Knæ,
Hunden gjøer, det lille Kræ,
Under Taget Svaler qvid’re,
Solen synker — og saa vid’re.
I den røde Aftensol
Sidder Moder i sin Stol;
Kinden luer dobbelt rød,
Barnet har hun paa sit Skjød.
Drengen er saa frisk og sund,
Æblekinden rød og rund!
See, hvor hun i Spøg ham banker
Paa de søde Pusselanker.
Katten staaer og krummer Ryg,
Men forstyrres af en Myg;
Barsk han den med Poten slaaer,
Og igjen som Hofmand staaer.
Moder klapper Barnets Kind;
See hvor sødt det sover ind,
Drømmer om de Engle smukke
I sin lille pene Vugge.
Mother and child
At the bend made by the road
Lies a lovely old abode.
All its walls are slightly skew
Window panes are small and few,
Door that’s now begun to sag,
Dog that barks, the scallywag,
’Neath the eaves are chirping swallows,
Setting sun – you know what follows.
In the evening sun’s mild glare
Mother’s sitting in her chair;
Both her cheeks flame rosy red,
On her lap the child’s been fed.
Such a fit and healthy boy,
Apple-cheeked and full of joy!
See, how blows she now is feigning
On his tiny toes she’s raining.
Arching high its back, the cat
Is much bothered by a gnat;
Hits it with a hefty paw,
As a courtier stands once more.
Mother strokes her baby’s cheek;
See, in no time it’s asleep,
In its cradle now lies beaming,
As of angels it is dreaming.
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