Brorson: 'Jeg gaaer i fare, der jeg gaaer'

i walk in danger where i tread

I walk in danger where I tread,

my soul would e’er remind me

that Satan stands behind, ahead

with fetters that would bind me;

his hidden hell-fire’s ray

can oft lead me astray

if from my post I once have fled.

I walk in danger where I tread.

I walk in hardship where I tread –

foul sin, I must forswear it;

should God’s rod rain upon my head,

with patience I must bear it;

I often see no way

along which to assay

when setbacks’ mists around me spread.

I walk in hardship where I tread.

I walk but deathwards where I tread,

all certainty’s denied me,

each day or hour is one more thread

with which he now has tied me,

a tiny breath of air

can end the whole affair

and to eternity I’m sped.

I walk but deathwards where I tread.

I walk midst angels where I tread,

whose loving care’s eternal,

and Satan’s power provokes no dread

in such a host supernal.

Begone, world’s cares malign!

An angel stronghold’s mine

though hairs be harmed upon my head.

I walk midst angels where I tread.

I walk with Jesus where I tread,

close by his side he keeps me,

he shelters through the blood he’s shed

and helps me fight if needs be.

And where he once has trod

I too will seek to plod

though some would see me fail instead.

I walk with Jesus where I tread.

I walk to heaven where I tread,

so let my heart be cheerful,

its sole goal where all pain is shed

and sin leaves no one tearful.

Begone, world’s pomp and state!

I gaze on heaven’s gate,

all love of worldly goods now dead.

I walk to heaven where I tread.

(1734)

zkg5

zkg4

Swedish heroic ballad: 'Konung Göstaf I. och Dahlkarlarne'

King Gustav I and the Men of Dalarna

To Dalarna King Gustav rides

To parley with his Swedes,

But Christian lies at Södermalm,

On stolen pork he feeds,

Christian sits safe in Stockholm,

He guzzles both wine and mead.

Listen good men of Dalarna

To all I have to say:

:|: Will you with me to Stockholm go

For there the Jutes to slay? :|:

The men of Dalarna answered him

They answered every one:

:|: Good Friday’s battle we still recall,

Much slaughtering then was done. :|:

To this King Gustav did reply:

He answered with this prayer:

:|: May God our Father in Heaven ensure

That we now better fare. :|:

The men of Dalarna answered him

Who bore the Swedish crown:

:|: Will you our battle-leader be

And take back Stockholm town? :|:

Snow grouse and squirrel in the tree

Our arrows seek and find;

:|: That bloodhound Christian surely then

To such a fate’s assigned. :|:

I’ll gladly your battle-leader be,

King Gustav told them true,

:|: If you will swear allegiance

And follow my banner blue. :|:

Then all the men of Dalarna

They answered one and all:

:|: We’ll gladly risk both life and limb

To make that tyrant fall. :|:

The man of Dalarna armed themselves,

Not one whole day but two,

:|: To fight alongside King Gustav

And see the battle through. :|:

Gladly King Gustav then set out,

O’er Tuna bridge he rode;

:|: In numbers that the Danes amazed,

The men from Dalarna strode. :|:

Across the Tuna heath they spread,

this army of valiant men;

:|: Greater in number than the king

At one look could take in. :|:

He and his men at speed advanced,

They Stockholm would set free;

:|: Their shower of arrows thicker fell

Than hail does on the sea. :|:

He and his men they forged ahead

And made for Stockholm town;

:|: Their shower of arrows thicker fell

Than rain from clouds pours down. :|:

The men from Dalarna then did shoot,

Their bows they drew and twanged;

:|: Thicker the swarm of arrows was

Than the seashore’s grains of sand. :|:

The men from Dalarna had their sport,

Their arrows did skip and nip;

:|: Two Jutlanders the third one bore

Up on their pikestaff’s tip. :|:

The miller’s wife she then came out

And loudly she did chide:

:|: The sacks of grain have all been ground,

Who’s to carry them inside? :|:

They are not sacks of grain that’s ground,

In spite of what you say;

The highest Jutlanders they are

That of late in Malm did lie,

The poorest Jutlanders they are

That from arrows came to die.

My head is simply splitting,

My limbs are heavy as lead;

:|: I’ve drunk marsh rosemary’s foul brew

That in Dalecarlia’s bred. :|:

My side is also aching,

All movement leaves me bent;

:|: I’ve tasted the herring sour and rank

That from Dalecarlia’s sent. :|:

From out their houses people came

Onto Stockholm’s streets they stepped;

:|: It caused delight to watch the Jutes

That from their horses leapt. :|:

A knight there was called Eric,

He moaned as if in pain :

:|: May Lord God help us Jutes, our land

We ne’er will see again! :|:

King Gustaf rode on his noble steed

Around the battlefield;

:|: I thank you, my men of Dalarna,

For faith that did not yield. :|:

At my side you have battled

As faithful Swedes and true;

If God me further life shall grant,

I’ll make this up to you.

If God me further life shall grant,

I’ll make this up to you.

To see the original, go to here

zkg3

The opening of the Flemish epic 'Van Den Vos Reynaerde' (13th century)

Willem, die den Madoc maecte,

Daer hi dicke omme waecte,

Hem vernoyede so haerde,

Dat davonturen van Reinaerde

In Dietsce onghemaket bleven,

(Die hi hier hevet vulscreven)

Dat hi die vite dede soeken,

Ende hise naden walscen boeken

In Dietsce dus hevet begonnen.

God moete ons siere hulpe onnen! [...]

Het was in enen Sinxendaghe

Dat beide bosch ende haghe

Met groenen loveren waren bevaen:

Nobel, die coninc, hadde ghedaen

Sijn hof craieren over al,

Dat hi waende, hadde hijs gheval,

Houden te wel groten love.

Doe quamen tes coninx hove

Alle die diere, groot ende clene,

Sonder vos Reinaert allene.

Hi hadde te hove so vele mesdaen,

Dat hire niet ne dorste gaen:

Die hem besculdich kent ontsiet.

Also was Reinaerde ghesciet;

Ende hier omme scuwedi sconinx hof,

Daer hi in hadde cranken lof.

Doe al dat hof versamet was,

Was daer niemen, sonder die das,

Hine hadde te claghene over Reinaerde,

Den fellen metten roden baerde.

Willem, who did Madoc write,

often till very late at night,

was so disgruntled by the thought

that Reynard’s deeds remained unwrought

in our mother tongue to date

(for Aernout found the task too great)

that from French accounts he gleaned

what of Reynard’s life he weened

in our language folk might read.

This mighty task we wish godspeed! [...]

Whitsuntide had clothed in green

both shrub and wood, a perfect scene

for King Nobel’s summoned court

to which all subjects had to report,

it was, he thought, the perfect chance,

throughout his kingdom to enhance

his glory and his royal fame.

The animals to his court then came

great and small in a single line,

but of Reynard – not a sign.

He’d at court done so much wrong

that he was loath to come along.

He had everything to fear

and his guilt was all too clear,

so he shunned the royal court

where his standing was as nought.

When the assembly was complete

all called Reynard an evil cheat,

except for the badger, and did crave

justice for the red-bearded knave.