Steen Steensen Blicher: 'Præludium' (Sig nærmer Tiden)

 

Præludium

 

Sig nærmer Tiden, da jeg maa væk!

     Jeg hører Vinterens Stemme;

Thi ogsaa jeg er kun her paa Træk,

     Og haver andensteds hjemme.

 

Jeg vidste længe, jeg skal herfra;

     Det Hjertet ikke betynger,

Og derfor lige glad nu og da

     Paa Gjennemreisen jeg synger.

 

Jeg skulde sjunget lidt meer maaskee —

     Maaskee vel ogsaa lidt bedre;

Men mørke Dage jeg maatte see,

     Og Storme rev mine Fjædre.

 

Jeg vilde gjerne i Guds Natur

     Med Frihed spændt mine Vinger;

Men sidder fast i mit snævre Buur,

     Det allevegne mig tvinger.

 

Jeg vilde gjerne fra høien Sky

     Udsendt de gladere Sange;

Men blive maa jeg for Kost og Ly

     En Stakkels gjældbunden Fange.

 

Tidt ligevel til en Smule Trøst

     Jeg ud af Fængselet titter;

Og sender stundom min Vemodsrøst

     Med Længsel gjennem mit Gitter.

 

Lyt og, o Vandrer! til denne Sang;

     Lidt af din Vei du hidtræde!

Gud veed, maaske det er sidste Gang

     Du hører Livsfangen qvæde.

 

Mig bæres for, som ret snart i Qvel

     At Gitterværket vil briste;

Thi qviddre vil jeg et ømt Farvel;

     Maaskee det bliver det sidste.

 

 

Prelude

 

The time approaches for me to part!

Now winter's voice is compelling;

A bird of passage I know my heart

In other climes has its dwelling.

 

I have long known that I cannot stay;

This does not cause any grieving,

So free from care as I wend my way

I sing at times before leaving.

 

I should at times have perhaps sung more –

Or should perhaps have sung better;

But dark days crowded oft to the fore,

And gales my feathers did scatter.

 

In God's fair world I would fain have tried

To spread my wings out in freedom;

But I'm imprisoned on every side

And can't escape from my thralldom.

 

From lofty skies I would have fain have tried

To blithely sing and not fretted;

But for my shelter and food must bide

A jailbird poor and indebted.

 

At times I make the consoling choice

To let my gaze outward wander:

And sometimes send my poor mournful voice

Through prison bars yearning yonder.

 

Then listen, traveller, to this song;

To pass this way please endeavour!

It might, God knows, not last very long

Before this voice fades for ever.

 

This coming evening, I can foretell,

May see my prison bars breaking;

So I will chirp now a fond farewell,

The last maybe I'll be taking.