Hans Christian Andersen (translator): 'De to Ravne'

 

De to Ravne

(Skotsk Ballade)

 

Der sidde to Ravne paa Træet hist,

Saa sorte man aldrig saae dem forvist!

De skrige hæst over Skovens Krat,

»Hvad faae vi at spise i denne Nat?«

 

»Jeg veed, at i Mosen bag Dæmningen hist,

Der ligger en myrdet Ridder forvist;

Men ingen det veed, uden Himmelens Gud,

Samt Hunden og Falken og Ridderens Brud.«

 

»Hans Hund drager atter paa Jagten hen,

Hans Falk faaer sig snart en Herre igjen,

Og Bruden finder en Hjertenskjær,

Men vi faae et kosteligt Maaltid her!«

 

»Jeg sætter mig paa ham i Mag og i Ro,

Og hakker ham ud hans Øine to,

Og med hans Haar vil jeg flyve afsted,

Og flikke min gamle Rede dermed!«

 

»Saa mangt et Øie vil svømme i Vand,

Dog finder Ingen den Riddersmand;

Det blæser koldt over Busk og Green,

Hvor Løvet dækker hans hvide Been.«

 

(1831)

 

 

The two Ravens

(Scottish Ballad)

 

Two ravens are sitting on yonder tree,

In truth both as black as any can be!

They hoarsely caw o’er the underwood,

‘What is there tonight in the way of food?’ 

 

‘Behind yonder dike there lies in a marsh

A poor murdered knight whose fate was so harsh;

But no one save God is aware he’s there,

And the hound and hawk and his lady fair.’

 

‘His hound hunts already o’er hill and glen,

His hawk will soon gain a master again.

His bride a new sweetheart will find or steal,

So we are assured of a good square meal!’

 

‘I’ll land on his body, there where he lies,

And with my beak peck out both his eyes,

And with his fine locks fly off to the west

And use them to line my worn-out old nest!’

 

‘Ah, many an eye will shed a sad tear,

Though no one the knight will find, I fear;

Over bush and branch the wind blows keen

Where leaves hide his fleshless bones stripped clean.’

 

 

The Twa Corbies

Scottish anonymous

 

As I was walking all alane,

I heard twa corbies making a mane;

The tane unto the t’other say,

‘Where sall we gang and dine to-day?’

 

‘In behint yon auld fail dyke,

I wot there lies a new-slain knight;

And naebody kens that he lies there,

But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.

 

‘His hound is to the hunting gane,

His hawk, to fetch the wild-fowl hame,

His lady’s ta’en another mate,

So we may mak our dinner sweet.

 

‘Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,

And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een.

Wi’ ae lock o’ his gowden hair,

We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.

 

‘Mony a ane for him makes mane,

But nane sall ken whare he is gane:

O’er his white banes, when they are bare,

The wind sall blaw for evermair.’