Friday, 27 January 2012

Poem by the Swedish poetess
Sophia Elisabet Brenner (1659-1730)

 
Qwinnokönetz
Oskrymtade Tårar

Fälte öfwer
Den fordom ÄDLE och WÄLBORNE/
Fru MARJA Hiärne/

Som i sine bäste och liufweste år/igenom den timmeliga
Döden blef hädanryckt/ den 11. Decemb. Anno 1690.


                        Döden som sig föresatt
                  Til sit tysta tilhåld föra/
                  Hwad hans faslig långa natt
                  En gång måtte hyglig göra/
                  Sökte nogast hwar han trodde
                  Någon utwald fägring bodde.
                 
                  Länge stod han utan hopp/
                  Om han nånsin skulle finna
                  Så fulkomlig menskio kropp/
                  Som förmåtte öfwerwinna/
                  Alt hwad kulit mörkt och öde
                  Fins i sälskap med de döde.
                 
                  Men omsider lät han se/
                  At hans anslag ikke fela/
                  Ödetz stränga Systrar tre
                  Hjulpe til at särskilt dela/
                  Hwad til werldens lust och fägnat
                  Himlen/deiligt sammanägnat.
                 
                  Sielf naturen/ grämer sig/
                  Som sit skönhetz mönster/ miste/
                  Och dit kön som genom dig/
                  Skönste/ sig behaglig wiste.


The unfeigned tears
of the female sex

Shed over
The late NOBLE and WELL-BORN/
Mistress MARJA Hiärne/

Who in her very prime/was wrested from this life
by temporal Death/ on 11 December Anno 1690.


                        Death who had made up his mind
                  For his silent haunt to capture/
                  What his endless night unkind
                  Might provide with some small rapture/
                  Sought with care where for the telling
                  Some fair beauty might be dwelling.
                 
                  Long he stood with hope forlorn/
                  That he ever would discover
                  Human flesh so pure in form/
                  It could fully triumph over/
                  All that’s dreary dark down-hearted
                  In the realm of those departed.
                 
                  But he finally could see/
                  For his plot success awaiting/
                  When austere Fate’s sisters three
                  Helped him now in extricating/
                  What for earthly joy and pleasure
                  Heaven/had composed at leisure.
                 
                  Even nature/ grieves you too/
                  Mourns her beauty’s template’s passing/
                  As your sex does which through you/
                  Prized its beauty all-surpassing.
                 

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