Marx Engels Correspondence 1860
Source: Marx Engels On Literature and Art, Moscow 1976;
Written in German and Danish;
Transcribed: by Andy Blunden.
By pure chance, the old Danish Kjmpe-Viser fell into my hands. Some very nice things here and there among a lot of rubbish. Here is one, translated by Uhland.
Her Oluf hand rider saa vide,
Alt til sit brllup at byde,
Men dandsen den gaar saa let gennem lunden.
Der dandse fire, og der dandse fem:
Elle kongens daater rekker haanden frem.
“Velkommen, Her Oluf, lad fare din fig:
Bi lidet, og trd her i dandsen med mig.”
“leg ikke tr, jeg ikke maa: I morgen skal mit brllup staa.”
“Hr du, Her Oluf, trd dandsen med mig:
To bukkeskinds stvle saa giver jeg dig.
To bukkeskinds stvle, sider vel om been:
ForgyIdene spore derom spend.
Hr du, Her Ole, trd dandsen med mig:
En silke-skiorte giver jeg dig.
En silke-skiorte saa hivid og fiin:
Den blegte min moder veg maane skin.”
“Jeg ikke tr, jeg ikke maa etc.”
“Hr du, Her Oluf, trd dandsen med mig:
Et hoved af guld saa giver jeg dig.”
“Et hoved af guld kand jeg vel faa:
Men dandse med dig tr jeg ej saa.”
“Og vil du ikke dandse med mig,
Sot og sygdom skal flge dig.”
Hun slog hannem mellem sine hrde:
Aldrig var hand slagen verre.
Hun lfte, Her Oluf paa ganger rd:
“Og rid nu hiem til din festem.”
Der hand kom til borgeled:
Der staar hands moder og hviler ved.
“Hr du, Her Oluf, kier snnen min:
Hvi baer du nu saa bleg en kind?”
Og jeg maa vel bre kinden bleg,
For jeg bar vret i Ellekonens leg.”
“Hr du, Her Ole, min sn saa prud:
Hvad skal jeg svare din unge brud?”
‘I skal sige, jeg er udi lunde,
At prve min hest og saa mine hunde.”
Aarle om morgen, dag det var:
Da kom den brud med brudeskar.
De skenkte mid, de skenkte viin:
“Hvor er, Her Ole, brudgom min?”
“Her Oluf hand reed sig hen i lunde:
Hand prved sin hest og saa sine hunde.”
Hun tog op det skarlagen rd:
Der laa Her Oluf og var dd.
I like this much better than the very smooth Uhland version. Another, “Her Jon,” is even nicer.
Herr Oluf fares both far and wide,
To fetch the wedding-guests he doth ride.
The elves dance on the green land,
The Elf King’s daughter gives him her hand.
“Welcome, Herr Oluf, why wouldst thou flee?
Step into the ring and dance with me.”
But dance I neither will nor may,
Tomorrow dawns my wedding day.’
“oh list, Herr Oluf, come dance with me,
Two golden spurs I'll give to thee.
“A shirt all shining white so fine:
My mother shall bleach it with pale moonshine.”
“But dance I neither will nor may,
Tomorrow dawns my wedding day.”
“Oh list, Herr Oluf, come dance with me,
A pile of gold I'll give to thee.”
“Gladly I'd take your gold away,
But dance I neither dare nor may.”
“An thou, Herr Oluf, dance not with me,
Sickness and plague shall follow thee.”
And then she touched him on the chest.
Never such pain had clutched his breast.
She helps him, half-swooning, his mount to bestride:
“Now get thee hence to thy fair bride.”
As to his own door he drew near,
His mother was trembling there with fear.
“Tell me quickly, oh quickly, my son,
Why are thy looks so pale and wan?”
“How should they not be pale and wan?
’tis from the Elf King’s realm I come!’
“Oh list, dear son I love so well,
What to your bride am I to tell?”
“Say to the forest I am bound,
To exercise my horse and hound!’
Next morning, when it was scarcely day,
There came the bride with her company.
They poured the mead, they poured the wine.
“Where is Herr Oluf, bridegroom of mine?”
“He’s ridden hence, for the forest bound,
To exercise his horse and hound!’
The bride uplifted the scarlet red.
There lay Herr Oluf, and he was dead.
(Translated by Alex Miller)