Recension
Vel rødmer Land og Hav ret smukt i Aftensolens Flamme,
Men ak, Maneren, mærker man, bestandig er den samme.
Original er Solen ei, hvad saa den er forresten;
Bestandig staaer den op i Øst, og synker ned i Vesten.
Saa komme Nattens Stjerner frem, men man sig ret maa harme,
De skinne vel, men Alt er koldt, der er ei Liv, ei Varme.
En Nattergal ret snurrigt slaaer sin Trille hist bag Muren,
Men der er ei Methode i, det er jo reent Naturen;
Desuden er den altfor ung, har neppe Duun paa Hagen,
Og havde Sangen ingen Feil, saa sang den nok om dagen.
Nu staaer da ogsaa Maanen op, og den er ei saa ilde,
Var den dog bare altid rund, og ikke skifte vilde.
Høit skummer Bølgen, men for stærkt, den maa sig moderere –
– Det Hele røber vel Genie, men heller ikke mere!
Critique
Though land and sea quite prettily in setting sun are blushing,
Alas, one notes the way it’s done is always somewhat gushing.
The sun is not original, whatever else it may be,
It rises in the east and sets far west and does so daily;
And out then come the nighttime stars, but there’s this great shortcoming:
Although they sparkle, all is cold, no life or warmth’s forthcoming!
Behind the wall the nightingale trills really rather queerly,
But it’s quite unmethodical, and all is nature merely;
Apart from which it’s far too young, its feathers scarcely bristling
A song, if flawless, it by day would surely have been whistling.
The moon now rises in the sky , which in itself is pleasing;
But couldn’t it stay always round, not wax and wane unceasing.
The waves are foaming, but too much, should tame their wild ambition –
– The whole thing smacks of genius, but nothing in addition!
