Midsommers-Natten ved Frederiksborg
Kølig det lufter i måneskin mat,
blomsterne dufter i midsommers nat,
og borgen i søen på Hillerødsøen
står gammel og grå, mens fuglene slå
i nattergalslunden hin fejre.
Kølig det lufter i måneskin mat,
blomsterne dufter i midsommers nat,
men gråhærdet kæmpe i Danemarks Tempe
sig hviler så blødt og blunder så sødt
som nattergalsungen i lunden.
Kølig det lufter i alderdomsår,
høsten ej dufter lig sommer og vår;
men prisen dog vinder med aks og kærminder
den grundrige høst fra vårtidens lyst
i nattergalslunden hin fejre.
Midsummer Night at Frederiksborg
Cool winds sigh softly in moon’s dimmish light,
flower scent is wafting this midsummer’s night,
the grey castle, lake-bound on Hillerød island,
stands ancient and still, while birds softly trill
in fair groves with nightingales calling.
Cool winds sigh softly in moon’s dimmish light,
flower scent is wafting this midsummer’s night,
the warrior’s last embers in Denmark’s own Tempe*
find long yearned-for rest, with sleep he is blessed
like nightingale fledgling in hedgerow.
Cool winds sigh softly though old age now clings,
autumn’s scent wafts less than summer’s and spring’s,
but greater its power, with corn, blue-eyed flower
a harvest entire of spring’s keen desire
in fair groves with nightingales calling.
* Favourite haunt of Apollo and the Muses
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