A soufflé from Ingemann this time

Græshoppen

Græshoppen sidder paa Engen

I Sommerens Aftenskjær.

Synger han Elskovsviser

Alt for sin Hjertenskjær?

Sangfugl han ligner dog ikke:

Kun Vinger til Stads han fik.

Spillemand i det Grønne!

Hvormed gjør du Musik?

Siig! – er du Fiolinisten

I Oberons Hofkapel?

Han svarer med høie Toner,

Det klinger som: ja vel!

Ivrigt han stryger Fiolen

Og nikker paa Blomsterstol

Benet er Fiddelbuen

Og Vingen hans Fiol.

The grasshopper

Grasshopper sits in the meadow

In summer’s warm evening glow.

Can he be singing love songs

That to his sweetheart go?

Songbird one scarcely can call him:

His wings do nought but adorn.

Tell me, al fresco fiddler,

Just how’s your music born?

Say! – are you court violinist

In Oberon’s fairy band?

With high-pitched notes he answers,

It sounds like: Yes, that grand!

Keenly he strokes on his fiddle

And nods on his flowery spring,

His leg as bow employing,

He fiddles on his wing.