Johannes Ewald: 'The Delights of Rungsted' (1775)

Rungsteds Lyksaligheder. En Ode

 

I kiølende Skygger,

     I Mørke, som Roser udbrede;

Hvor Sangersken bygger

     Og quiddrende røber sin Rede –

     Hvor sprudlende Bække,

     Snart dysse, snart vække

Camoenernes Yndling, den følende Skiald,

     Med steds’ eensrislende Fald -

 

Hvor Hiordene brøle,

     Mod Skovens letspringende Sønner,

Og puste, og føle

     Den Rigdom, i hvilken de stønner –

     Hvor Meyeren synger

     Blant gyldene Dynger,

Og tæller sin Skat, og opløfter sit Raab,

     Til den, som har kroned hans Haab. –

 

Hvor skiærtsende Bølger

     Beskvulpe den Vandrer, hvis Øye,

Snart stirrende følger

     Med Helsinges graanende Høye;

     Snart undrende haster

     Blant Skove af Master, —

Og forsker, og kiender den Fremmedes Flag,

     Og glemmer den heldende Dag. –

 

Hvor eensommes Liise,

     Venskabelig lindrende Slummer,

Tit bød en Louise,

     Forglemme sin kiærlige Kummer –

     Hvor Glæder tilsmiile

     Den Vandrende Hviile,

Hvor Rungsted indhegner den reeneste Lyst;

     Der fyldte Camoenen mit Bryst. –

 

Hvor Kummer og Smerte,

     Fandt glade dit Aftryk, Du Høye,

Det ædleste Hierte,

     I hvert et medlidende Øye -

     Hvor Venlighed pryder

     De strængeste Dyder;

Der voxte min Sang; og den undrende Skov

     Gav Gienlyd af Skaberens Lov. –

 

Jeg saae dine Throner,

     O Almagt! – og stirrede længe –

Men hellige Toner

     Foer giennem de zittrende Strænge –

     Hvert Blad, hvor mit Øye

     Fandt Præg af den Høye,

Opflammede Siælen – da voxte min Sang! –

     Da raste den mægtige Klang!

 

O Verdeners Fader! –

     Saa sang jeg – Du Stærke! – Du Viise! –

Gud! – som Myriader,

     Som Himlenes Vældige priise! –

     See Støvet kan bære,

     Din Rigdom, Din Ære,

Din Godhed, o Fader! – saa sang jeg – og Fryd

     Brød Læbernes bævende Lyd. –

 

Lyksalige Digter,

     Som Glæden indbød til sin Hytte;

Til venlige Pligter;

     Til Friehed, som Dyder beskytte! –

     Cheruber fornemme

     Hans dristige Stemme,

Og Himle forsamles omkring ham; og Lyst

     Udbredes i Menniskets Bryst. –

 

Men Du, som allene

     Fremkaldte den Lyst af min Smerte,

Siig! — Kan min Camoene

     Udbrede sin Fryd i dit Hierte? –

     O siig mig, Veninde! —

     Kan Sangens Gudinde,

Med smeltende Toner belønne det Skiød,

     Hvoraf min Lyksalighed flød? –

 

 

The delights of Rungsted. An Ode

 

In shadows refreshing,

     In darkness from roses now stealing;

Where busily nesting

     The songstress her home is revealing –, 

     Where streams whose carousing

     Now lulls, now is rousing

The Muses’ best darling, the sentient bard,

     With murmurings close to the heart –

 

Where cattle are lowing,

     At woodland-sons’ fleet gallivanting,

And breathe hard at knowing

     The plenty in which they are panting –

     Where reapers are singing,

     Midst golden stacks swinging,

And count out their treasure and let cries resound

     To him who their hope now has crowned.

 

Where, skittishly playing,

     Waves wash o’er the roamer, who quick-eyed

First finds his gaze straying  

     At Helsinge’s grey-shaded hillside

     Then wond’ringly hastens

     Through forests of masts and

Inspects, then makes out foreign flags straight away,

     Forgetting the fast-waning day. –

 

Where balm of the lonely,

     Sweet slumber so gently relieving,

Louise oft solely

     Could help one forget the heart’s grieving –

     Where joys offer home, a

     Repose for the roamer,

Where Rungsted encloses delights pure and chaste:

     There did the muse fill my breast.

 

Where pain and affliction,

     With joy found your imprint, Oh High One,

The pure heart’s depiction

     By every compassionate eye won –

     Where friendship adds worth to

     The strictest of virtues;

There did my song grow; and the forest in awe

     Re-echoed the Great Maker’s law.

 

I saw your thrones gleam too,

     Almighty! – my gaze all aquiver –

But tones divine passed through

     The strings with each shiver –

     Each leaf where I sighted

     The High One ignited

My soul – and exulted at which my song swelled! –

     The mighty sound could not be quelled! –

 

Oh all the Worlds’ Father! –

     So sang I – You Strong One! – You Wise One!

God! Whom myriads are

     Now praising as do heaven’s prized ones!

     See, how dust can carry

     Your plenty, your glory,

Your goodness, oh Father! – so sang I – and joy

     My lips’ quaking sound did employ. –

 

O poet most blissful,

     That gladness bade come to his dwelling;

To duties most cheerful,

     To freedom, through virtues compelling! –

     All cherubs while winging

     His bold voice hear ringing,

And heavens are gathered around him; and joy

     Unfolds in man’s breast, ne’er to cloy.

 

But you, you alone drew

     From anguish such joy beyond measure

Say! – has my muse power to

     Unfold in your heart greatest pleasure?

     O sweet friend, recite me! –

     Can song’s goddess lightly

With soft-melting notes the lap then reward

     That me such delight did afford? –