Margarete Münsterberg, ed., trans. A Harvest of German Verse. 1916.
By The AlderkingJohann Wolfgang von Goethe (17491832)
W
It is the father who carries his child;
He holds the boy secure in his arm,
He keeps him warm and safe from harm.
“Seest thou not, father, the Alderking near?
The Alderking with his crown and train?”—
“My son, it is mist before the rain.”
Such lovely games I’ll play with thee.
My flowers gay thou shalt behold;
My mother has many a gown of gold.”
What Alderking whispers into my ear?”—
“Be calm, be calm, my dearest child!
The wind in the leaves is murmuring wild.”
My daughters shall serve thee and make thee glad;
My daughters their nightly dances keep—
They will rock and dance and sing thee to sleep.”
Alderking’s daughters there in the dark?”—
“My son, my son, it is clear as day:
The ancient willows appear so gray.”
If thou art not willing, with force I will try.”—
“My father, my father, now he clutches my arm!
The Alderking has done me harm!”
He holds in his arms the moaning child,
He barely reaches his own homestead;
And in his arms the child was dead.