Hans Christian Andersen: 'The Student' (1830)

 

Studenten

 

Høit under Taget, hvor Svalen boer,

Har ogsaa Studenten sit Kammer,

Der sidder han nærmere Englenes Chor,

Trods Stuens og Salens Madammer;

Paa Væggen hænger hans hele Stads,

I Lommen er Skillinger fire,

Paa Bordet ligger Homer og Horats

Samt mange beskrevne Papire.

 

Et Tællelys brænder i Stagen smukt,

Selv skjærer han Aftensmaden;

Det er saa silde, hans Dør er lukt,

Kun Vægteren sværmer paa Gaden;

Lad ham kun sværme i blaa Talar,

Det rager Studenten jo ikke,

Han stirrer saa taus gjennem Rudens Glar,

Seer Stjernerne blinke og nikke.

 

Han tænker paa mangen en Barndoms Drøm,

Imedens han stopper sin Hose,

Da bliver om Hjertet han ganske øm,

Hans Kinder see ud som en Rose.

Han yndes af Mange, har dog ingen Ven,

End sige en lille Veninde,

Thi flagre hans Sukke i Natten hen,

Til Nar for de lystige Vinde.

 

Men sukke og græde er ingen Plaseer,

Undtagen for syge Poeter,

See! Maanen sidder paa Taget og leer

Ad ham og ad Povel og Peter.

Studenten damper sin Pibe ud,

Og vender saa Lyset i Stagen,

Saa beder han barnlig en Bøn til Gud,

Og trækker saa Dynen om Hagen.

 

 

The Student

 

High ’neath the eaves where the swallows dwell

The student too has his bedsitter,

He’s closer to angelic choirs, he can tell,

Though below in fine rooms ladies twitter;

The walls are decked with all that he owns,

His pocket’s four pennies as neighbours,

His desk features Homer’s and Horace’s tomes

Plus scribbled sheets – fruit of his labours.

 

A thin tallow candle burns on, still bright,

His supper himself he gets ready;

It’s very late now, his door’s shut tight,

The street watchman’s pacing is steady;

Let him pace on in his blue cloak down there,

The student’s completely uncaring,

Through darkened panes silently out he stares

At stars up there twinkling and flaring.

 

He thinks of the dreams he had as a child,

While darning a hole in his stocking,

His heart seems to melt, turn tender and mild,

His cheeks blush like roses, so shocking!

He’s quite liked by many, yet still has no friend,

A girlfriend’s quite out of the question,

That’s why all his sighs fade into the night,

Made fun of by winds in succession.

 

But sighing and crying no pleasure provide

Except for poor poets’ frustration,

Look! Perched on the roof, the moon him derides

As well as the rest of creation.

The student puts out his pipe with great care,

And up-ends the candle to damp it,

Then childlike he says a last nighttime prayer,

And up to his chin pulls the blanket.