Min Yndlingsdal
Hvor est du, elskte Plet! hvad er dit Navn?
Naar skal jeg dig engang i Verden finde?
Naar vil du til dit yndefulde Favn
For evig mig og mine Ønsker binde?
Min Barndoms skjønne Drøm — ukjendte Dal!
Hvor jeg en Hytte mellem Roser bygger,
Naar skal jeg høre dine Kilders Fald?
Naar vil du favne mig i dine Skygger?
Hvor est du Søe! med din løvkrandste Bred?
Og dine klare Bølgers milde Brusen?
Hvor est du, Lund! mit stille Hvilested,
Med dine tætte Blades sagte Susen?
Hvor est du Hytte, med dit Tag af Rør?
Som høje Bøges grønne Løv bedække;
Med dine Vindver smaae, og lave Dør,
Og Hinbærhækken for de hvide Vægge.
Hvor trindt omkring mit skjulte Yndlingssted
Sig skovbegroede Bjerge skulle kjæde,
Og rislende blant deres Rivter ned
En lille Bæk min Ager skulle væde.
Og Nattens Sanger skulle hos mig boe,
Og henrykt skulle jeg hans Slag fornemme;
Han skulle tolke mig min Fryd, min Roe,
Naar Hjertets Fylde bandt min svage Stemme.
Der skulle Dagens Morgenrøde see
Mig sjungende til landlig Syssel ile;
Der skulle Aftensolen dalende
Til mig den trætte Landmand venligt smile.
Og naar jeg længselfuld til Hjemmet foer,
En elsket Viv med Glutter smaae jeg favned;
Og ved mit tarvelige Aftenbord
En glad og trofast Ven jeg aldrig savned.
Nu har jeg ledt om Dalen fjern og nær,
Men ingensteds endnu jeg den har fundet:
Derfor jeg Sorgen i mit Hjerte bær,
Og derfor have mine Taarer rundet.
Jeg seer den Skye, som hisset nærmer sig,
Jeg hører Stormen fra dens mørke Sider.
De hule Tordner rulle trindt om mig,
Og Solen rød bag Uvejrskyen glider.
Farvel da du min Barndoms skjønne Drøm!
Den strænge Skjæbnes Røst mig grusomt vækker!
Jeg hvirvles bort i mine Dages Strøm,
Og Armene forgjæves mod dig strækker.
My favourite dale
Where are you, much-loved spot! what is your name?
Where in the world shall I you e’er discover?
When will you bind me and my wishes’ flame
For ever to your arms as if a lover?
My childhood’s lovely dream – you dale unknown!
Where amongst roses I’ll my hut be raising:
When shall I hear your sources tumbling down?
When shall I feel your shadows’ warm embracing?
Where are you, lake! with your fine leaf-fringed shore?
And with your clear waves’ gentle, peaceful lapping?
Where are you, grove! my resting-place and more,
With your dense foliage’s murmured tapping?
Where are you, hut, with your reed roof of thatch?
With the green leaves of tall birch trees spread over;
With your small windows and low door that match,
Where raspberry canes for white walls offer cover.
Where, all around my hidden favourite spot,
There is a thickly wooded chain of mountains,
And, down between their clefts into my plot,
A trickling stream purls, serving as its fountain.
And with me will night’s singer too reside,
And I, entranced, will hear her voice regaling;
And she my joy, my rest, will then spread wide
When my heart’s fulness hears my weak voice failing.
There will the early dawn at break of day
Observe me speeding to my country labour
There will the sun as daylight fades away
To me, tired farmer, smile as to a neighbour.
And when I my much longed-for home regained,
I’d my beloved wife and children be embracing,
And at my frugal table sense again
A glad and trusty friend, one ne’er forsaking.
I now have sought this dale out far and near,
But as yet nowhere have I ever found it:
And this is why I’ve often shed a tear
And my heart suffers grief which does confound it.
I see that yonder clouds are drawing close,
The storm’s dark sides it is no longer hiding.
Around me thunder’s rolling grows morose,
Behind the storm clouds the red sun’s now sliding.
And so farewell, my childhood’s lovely dream!
The merciless stern voice of fate arraigns me!
I’m whirled off in my life’s fast-flowing stream,
Stretch out my arms to you, but do so vainly.
