Thursday 19 May 2022

B.S. Ingemann: 'På Sjølunds Fagre Sletter'


On Sjølund’s plains so pleasing


On Sjølund’s plains so pleasing

down by the Baltic shore,

where woods with wreaths are friezing

the flower-strewn meadow-floor,

where silver streams now softly

glide past the ruin’s foot,

in ancient times a lofty

royal castle there once stood.


In golden halls so stately

a merry life was led,

where all did pleasure greatly

and jesting words were said:

King Valdemar had built there

his stronghold to defend

his life against all ill there

until the world should end.


With hunters he went riding,

upon his milk-white steed,

o’er hill and dale, fast striding

no danger did he heed;

but at the hounds’ loud baying,

the horn’s shrill calls far-flung,

they all forgot their praying

no holy mass heard sung.


Long since deep in the earth has

King Valdemar been laid,

in legends strange and terse has

his Hunt though been portrayed.

The farmer, poor man, crosses

himself aghast from fright

when hounds and hunters’ horses

tear past him late at night.

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