Thursday, 8 May 2025

B.S. Ingemann: 'På Sjølunds fagre sletter'


På Sjølunds fagre sletter

 

På Sjølunds fagre sletter

ved Østersøens bred,

hvor skoven kranse fletter

om engens blomsterbed,

hvor sølverkilden glider

nu ved ruinens fod,

dér stolt i gamle tider

en kongebolig stod.

 

I borgens gyldne sale

sig rørte muntert liv,

der hørtes skæmtsom tale

og lystigt tidsfordriv:

kong Valdemar dér bygged

så fast sit kongehus,

som det hans liv betrygged,

til verden sank i grus.

 

Med lystig jægerskare

på hviden ganger fløj

den konge tit med fare

hen over stub og høj;

men i den raske glæde,

ved jægerhornets klang

de glemte tit at bede

og høre messesang.

 

I muld for længe siden

kong Valdemar er lagt,

men sælsomt gennem tiden

går sagnet om hans Jagt.

Tit korser arme bonde

sig end på natlig sti,

hvor jægere og hunde

ham suse vildt forbi.


The original poem was much longer. See here

 

 

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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