Hans Christian Andersen: 'Mit Liw' (1822)

Andersen left Odense 4 September 1819

Mit Liw (1822)

 

Taare trille naar jeg mindes

Barndom dig med al din Fryd.

Da var jeg saa rolig,

Herrens Engle trolig,

Skjærmede om mig – – –

 

– Naar Aftensolen hist i Vesten sank,

Og Maanens Skive skinned klaer og blank,

Da kjærlig Moder tog sin lille Dreng

Og bragte ham til lune, bløde, Seng;

Og medens udenfor lød’ Nattergale-Chor

Hun lærte mig at bede Fader-vor.

Jeg ældre blev, stærk Phantasien ulmed’

I Lue brød den Gnist, som havde dulmet;

Nu lærte jeg at læse; hvilken Himmel

Laae ikke for mig, hvilken Blomstervrimmel!

Nu fulgte jeg Kong Lear paa nøgne Hede,

Og mødte Machbets Hexer, fæle, lede,

Jeg med Niels Klim foer ned i Dybets Skjød

Og græd veemodig ved skjøn Valborgs Død.

Nu var jeg fjorten Aar, mit Hjærte brændte,

Jeg Verden kun af Digterværker kjendte

Og var derfor saa lykkelig og fro,

Og ilede fra Barndoms søde Boe

Allene ud i Verden vide.

Naadig Herren var og god,

Mig hans Engle fulgte,

De i Drømme gav mig Mod,

Haabet ei sig dulgte.

Naar jeg i den dunkle Nat

Syntes mig saa rent forladt,

Knæled jeg paa Sengen,

Modig da jeg Harpen tog,

Strængene med Haanden slog,

Sang min Smerte, sang min Lyst,

Og det lindrede mit Bryst.

 

Da hørte ædle Mænd de spæde Toner,

Og lyttede til Barnets svage Sang;

De saae’ hvor Sjælen gennem Støvets Zoner

Til Trøstens Himmel barnlig fro sig svang.

Thi tog de Barnet fra sin raae Natur

Og satte ham bag Temples (!) lune Muur,

Hvor Aanden kunde classisk dannes ud,

Og eengang kraftfuld stige mod sin Gud. –

 

Jeg græd af Glæde,

Mit Hjærte bævet;

Er Gud tilstæde?!

Hans Engle svæved’

Jo mildt om mig. –

Sig Veien høiner,

Men Maalet øiner

Dog Sjælens blik. –

 

Heelt uvant var’ de første Skridt at gaae,

Og nu jeg først min hele Svaghed saae:

Dog ei min Fryd, min Munterhed bortveeg

Før dybt i Sjælen denne Tanke steeg:

Mon ogsaa du har Kræfter værdig er,

Alt hvad der for dig Svage gjøres her?

 

Men snart en Klogskabs Stemme,

Den mørke Taage brød.

O aldrig kan jeg glemme,

Hvad for mit Indre lød.

Nu har man planten (!) prøvet,

Men den kun Ukrud er,

Thi har man den berøvet

Sit Haab, sit Stjerneskjær. –

 

– Fortvivlet drog jeg da i Natten ud,

Og glemte Naadens store, milde Gud;

Da lød din Stemme faderlige Ven

Og atter mig til Livet kaldte hen;

Skjøndt vel jeg veed du Skuffes i din Tro

At Evner end hos Ynglingen skal boe,

Men det er dog en sød en salig Trøst,

At høre venskabs vennehulde Røst,

Jeg synker veed jeg – men med roligt Bryst,

Jeg gjorte hvad jeg kunde, er min Trøst.

Jeg var stupid, forvirret uden Sands,

Og derfor drømte om en Digterkrands.

 

Kilde: https://www.hcandersen-homepage.dk/?page_id=79028

 

 

My Life (1822)

 

My tears run down when I recall

You, childhood, with your many joys

Such a calmness bore me,

The Lord’s angels surely

Watched over me – – –

 

- When in the West sun set and it was night

And moon’s disc shone with gleam both clear and bright,

A loving mother her young son then led

To the sweet warmth and softness of his bed;

And while the nightingales’ song filled the air

She taught me how to say the Lord’s own prayer.

As I grew older, latent fantasy

Was kindled and flared up inside of me;

I now learnt how to read, what heaven lay

Before me, and what flowers in fine array!

I followed on the naked heath King Lear,

Encountered Macbeth’s witches, grim and queer,

With Niels Klim I descended to the depths

And sadly wept at lovely Valborg’s death.

When just fourteen, my heart’s fire grew and grew,

From prose and verse alone the world I knew,

And so was happy, and would gladly roam

And hastened from my childhood’s much-loved home

Into the great wide world.

God was merciful and good,

Angels walked beside me,

Their dreams fed my reckless mood,

Hope was strong inside me.

When in depths of darkest night

I felt lonely, full of fright,

I knelt at my bedside,

Then my harp I boldly took

With my hand its strings I shook,

Sang what roused me or oppressed,

And relief it brought my breast.

 

Then noble men discerned the frail notes’ quavers,

And listened to the child’s still fragile song;

They glimpsed the soul that rose through dust-filled layers

Consolingly to heaven’s mighty throng.

And so they took the child from his raw state

To safe, warm temple walls where he could educate

And feed his spirit in the classic way

So he might soar towards his God some day. –

 

I wept with joy here,

My heart now shivered

Is God quite near?!

For his angels quivered

Around me gently.–

The path grows steeper,

My soul though keeps the

Goal within sight.

 

My first steps were both shaky and unsure

And only then I all my weakness saw,

My joy and my good cheer, though, did not swerve

Till deep within my soul this checked my verve:

I wonder if your puny powers come near

To meriting the things done for you here?

 

But wisdom’s voice soon spoke, and

The dense mist turned aside.

My memory’s unbroken

Of words echoed deep inside.

The plant has now been tested,

Weeds only though were seen

For it has been divested

Of hope, its starry sheen. –

 

– Despairing, out into the night I trod,

Forgetting mercy’s great and gentle God;

Then your voice sounded, Father mild and friend

Recalling me to earthly life again;

Though shaken your faith managed to survive

That in this youth some talents may yet thrive,

It even so is sweet and comforting

To hear your trusting voice of friendship ring,

I know I’m sinking – but with quiet breast

My consolation is I did my best.

I was confused and stupid, without sense,

My dream of laurel wreath therefore intense.

 

Source: https://www.hcandersen-homepage.dk/?page_id=79028