Jomfruen
i fugleham
Jeg ved
vel, hvor en skov hun stander,
hun står
foruden under fjord;
der gror
inde de fejreste træ,
som
nogen mand haver hørt.
Så
vinder en svend sin jomfru.
Der gror
inde de fejreste træ,
som man
kalder silje og linde;
der
spiller inde de ærlige dyr,
som man
kalder hjorte og hinder.
Der
spiller inde både hjorte og hinde
og andre
dyr så skønne;
der
synger så lidel en nattergal
udi en
lind så grøn.
Det
spurgte Nilaus Erlandsøn,
[som
dyren’ er vant at bede],
han
lader sin ganger med det røde guld sko,
og did
rider han at lede.
Did red
Nilaus Erlandsøn
så såre
da mon han lange;
der var
han i dage tre,
han
kunne ikke fuglen fange.
Så sætte
han snaren på alle de træ,
som
fuglen var vante at være;
den fugl
blev i sin’ øjen snar,
han
måtte hende dog ombære.
Han
sætte snaren på alle de stier,
som
fuglen’ var vant at gange;
den fugl
var i sin' øjen så snar,
han
kunne hende ikke fange.
Han tog
øksen i sin hånd,
han
ville det træ neder fælde;
der kom
den mand, der skoven åtte,
han skød
sin skaft imellem.
“Hugger
du neder min fæ’rne skove,
og gør
du mig den vælde:
jeg
lover dig, Nilaus Erlandsøn,
så dyrt
skalt du det gælde.”
Det da
mælte den skønne jomfru,
hun stod
på højen tinde:
“Ungersvend,
vilt du lyde mit råd,
da skalt
du fuglen vinde.
Hør du,
favren ungersvend,
og vilt
du lyde mit råd:
du får
ikke af vilden fugl,
uden du
haver tammen brad.”
Han skar
braden af sin bryst,
han
hængte det på lindekvist;
hun
flagred’ med sin’ vinger, hun lod vel om,
fuld
ondt var braden at miste.
Det da
var den lidel nattergal,
hun fik
det blodige brad;
så blev
hun til skønneste jomfru,
der
måtte på jorden gå.
Jomfruen
under linden stod
i
silkesærk hint røde;
ridderen
tog hende udi sin arm,
de
klaged hverandre deres nød.
Ridderen
tog hende i sin arm,
klapped
hende ved hviden kind:
“Sig
mig, allerkæreste min,
hvem
voldte sorrig din?”
“Jeg sad
over min faders bord,
jeg
legte med roser og liljer;
min
stedmoder kom der gangendes fram,
det var
ikke med henders minde.
Så
skabte hun mig til en lidel nattergal,
bad mig
ad skoven flyve;
min’ syv
møer i ulvelige,
bad, de
skulde fuglen rive.”
Jomfruen
under linden stod,
slog ud
sit favre hår;
der kom
løbendes henders tjenestemøer,
i
ulvelige de var.
Nu haver
Nilaus Erlandsøn
forvunden
båd’ angest og harm;
nu sover
han så gladelig
udi den
jomfru henders arm.
Så
vinder en svend sin jomfru.
The maid in the
guise of a bird
I know where there lies a forest,
far out at the edge of the fjord;
therein there grow the fairest of trees
that ever a man has heard.
So does a man gain
his maiden.
Therein there grow the fairest of trees,
that one calls wood-willow and lime.
therein there play the noblest of beasts
that one calls the hart and the hind.
Therein there play both the hart and the hind
and other beasts pleasing to see;
there sings so tiny a nightingale
up in a lime so green.
Of this learned Nilaus Erlandsøn.
[a hunting man known for his skill],
he had his steed shod with shoes of red gold,
and yonder he rode for a kill.
Yonder did ride Nilaus Erlandsøn,
so deep-felt was his rapture;
there he stayed for three whole days,
but never the bird did he capture.
Then traps he did set on all of the trees
the bird would choose to alight on;
the bird it grew so keen of eye
the net he never could tighten.
Then traps he did set on all of the paths
the bird would walk on by nature;
the bird it was so keen of eye
he never was able to catch her.
He took his axe up in his hand,
he would the tree have felled;
the man who owned the forest came,
his spear between he held.
“If you chop down my forefathers’ trees
and do me such a wrong:
I promise you, Nilaus Erlandsøn,
you’ll rue the day ere long.”
Then came the voice of the fair maid,
up from the top of the tree:
‘Young man, should you heed my advice,
Then yours the bird shall be.
Hark you well, you handsome man,
and heed you my advice:
without tame flesh you shall not catch
the wild bird in a trice.”
He cut the tame flesh from his breast,
he hung it from a branch of lime;
she flapped her wings, it pleased her well,
to gain such flesh lost no time.
It was the tiny nightingale
the tame bloody flesh she soon found;
then she became the loveliest maid
that ever had trod the ground.
The maiden under the lime tree stood
in silken shift of red;
the knight he took her by the arm,
their woes to each other they said.
The knight he took her on his arm,
her lily-white cheek he did stroke:
‘Oh tell me, dearest to my heart,
who then did such sorrow provoke?”
“At my father’s table I did sit,
with roses and lilies did play;
my stepmother came into the room,
who wanted to have me away.
She made a small nightingale out of me
and told me to fly to the wood:
my seven maids into wolves were all turned,
told to tear the bird if they could.”
The maiden under the lime tree stood,
tossed her fine golden hair;
out ran her seven maids to her,
as wolves they were all still ensnared.
Now has Nilaus Erlandsøn
defeated all fear and all harm;
now without a single care
he sleeps on his maiden’s arm.
So does a man gain
his maiden.
No comments:
Post a Comment