Bibliotheca Polyglotta

Gildet på Solhaug (The Feast at Solhaug)

Complete text

GUDMUND
(synger).
     Jeg red mig udi lunde,
     jeg sejled over sø;
     det var sig i mit væne hjem,
     der fæsted jeg min mø.

     Det var den alfekvinde,
     hun er så led og gram:
     ret aldrig skal den jomfru skær
     til kirken følge ham.

     Hør mig, du alfekvinde,
     lad fare den besvær;
     to hjerter kan ej skilles ad,
     som har hinanden kær!

GUDMUND.
     I rode into the wildwood,
     I sailed across the sea,
     But ’twas at home I wooed and won
     A maiden fair and free.

     It was the Queen of Elfland,
     She waxed full wroth and grim:
     Never, she swore, shall that maiden fair
     Ride to the church with him.

     Hear me, thou Queen of Elfland,
     Vain, vain are threat and spell;
     For naught can sunder two true hearts
     That love each other well!

EN GAMMEL MAND.
Det er et vakkert kvæde. Se, hvor de unge svende skotter did hen. (peger mod pigerne.) Ja, ja, hver har vel sin, kan jeg tro.

AN OLD MAN.
That is a right fair song. See how the young swains cast their glances thitherward! [Pointing towards the GIRLS.] Aye, aye, doubtless each has his own.

BENGT
(gør miner til Margit).
Ja, jeg har min, det véd jeg visst. Ha-ha-ha!

BENGT.
[Making eyes at MARGIT.]
Yes, I have mine, that is sure enough. Ha, ha, ha!

MARGIT
(sagte, bævende).
Å, at måtte lide al den spot og spe! Nej, nej; nu må den sidste redning fristes.

MARGIT.
[To herself, quivering.]
To have to suffer all this shame and scorn! No, no; now to essay the last remedy.

BENGT.
Hvad fattes dig? Mig tykkes, du er så bleg.

BENGT.
What ails you? Meseems you look so pale.

MARGIT.
Det går snart over. (vender sig til gæsterne.) Det bæres mig for, som jeg nys sagde, jeg havde glemt alle mine eventyr. Men jeg tror dog, jeg mindes et.

MARGIT.
’Twill soon pass over. [Turns to the GUESTS.] Did I say e’en now that I had forgotten all my tales? I bethink me now that I remember one.

BENGT.
Ret så, min hustru! Kom med det.

BENGT.
Good, good, my wife! Come, let us hear it.

UNGE PIGER
(bedende).
Ja, fortæl, fortæl, fru Margit!

YOUNG GIRLS.
[Urgently.]
Yes, tell it us, tell it us, Dame Margit!

MARGIT.
Næsten er jeg bange for, det vil lidet hue jer; men det får nu være.

MARGIT.
I almost fear that ’twill little please you; but that must be as it may.

GUDMUND
(sagte).
Alle helgener, hun vil da vel ikke –!

GUDMUND.
[To himself.]
Saints in heaven, surely she would not--!

MARGIT.
Det var sig en ungmø fager og fin,
hun sad i sin faders gård;
hun sømmed i silke, hun sømmed i lin; –
så lidet den gammen forslår.
Hun sad så ene med sorrig og gru;
der var tomt i hal og i stue;
den jomfru liden var stolt i hu,
hende lysted at vorde en adelsfrue. –
Det var sig bergkongen, red han fra nord,
kom han til gårde med guld og med svende;
tredje dags natten hjemad han foer
alt med sin brud, – med hende.
I berget sad hun hel mangen sommer,
af guldhorn kunde hun mjøden tømme,
i dalen trives de yndigste blommer, –
hun sanked dem kun i drømme. –
Det var sig den ungersvend bold og god;
vel kunde han lege på gyldne strenge;
det klang til bergets inderste rod,
hvor hun havde siddet så længe.
Så underligt blev hun tilsinde derved; –
op sprang fjeldets port som en bue;
over dalene lå gud faders fred,
og al den herlighed kunde hun skue.
Det var som om nu, for første gang,
hun var vækket til liv ved harpeklang,
som om hun først nu forstod at finde
den rigdom, verden slutter inde.
Og vel må I vide, hver og en,
at den, som er fængslet til fjeldets sten,
kan løses så let ved harpeleg!
Han så hende bunden, hørte hun skreg, –
men han slængte sin harpe bort i en vrå,
hejsede silkesejlet i rå,
stævnede over den salte sø
til fremmede lande med sin fæstemø.
(i stigende lidenskab.)
Du legte så fagert på strengenes guld;
thi svulmer min barm så kæk og fuld!
Jeg må ud, jeg må ud i de grønne dale!
Jeg dør herinde i fjeldets sale!
Han håner mig kun! Han favner sin mø
og stævner over den salte sø!
(skriger.)
Med mig er det ude; berget er lukket!
Solen lyser ikke mere; alle stjerner er slukket.
(hun vakler og segner afmægtig over mod en træstamme.)

MARGIT.
It was a fair and noble maid,
She dwelt in her father’s hall;
Both linen and silk did she broider and braid,
Yet found in it solace small.
For she sat there alone in cheerless state,
Empty were hall and bower;
In the pride of her heart, she was fain to mate
With a chieftain of pelf and power.
But now ’twas the Hill King, he rode from the north,
With his henchmen and his gold;
On the third day at night he in triumph fared forth,
Bearing her to his mountain hold.
Full many a summer she dwelt in the hill;
Out of beakers of gold she could drink at her will.
Oh, fair are the flowers of the valley, I trow,
But only in dreams can she gather them now!
’Twas a youth, right gentle and bold to boot,
Struck his harp with such magic might
That it rang to the mountain’s inmost root,
Where she languished in the night.
The sound in her soul waked a wondrous mood--
Wide open the mountain-gates seemed to stand;
The peace of God lay over the land,
And she saw how it all was fair and good.
There happened what never had happened before;
She had wakened to life as his harp-strings thrilled;
And her eyes were opened to all the store
Of treasure wherewith the good earth is filled.
For mark this well: it hath ever been found
That those who in caverns deep lie bound
Are lightly freed by the harp’s glad sound.
He saw her prisoned, he heard her wail--
But he cast unheeding his harp aside,
Hoisted straightway his silken sail,
And sped away o’er the waters wide
To stranger strands with his new-found bride.
[With ever-increasing passion.]
So fair was thy touch on the golden strings
That my breast heaves high and my spirit sings!
I must out, I must out to the sweet green leas!
I die in the Hill-King’s fastnesses!
He mocks at my woe as he clasps his bride
And sails away o’er the waters wide.
[Shrieks.]
With me all is over; my hill-prison barred;
Unsunned is the day, and the night all unstarred.
[She totters and, fainting, seeks to support herself against the trunk of a tree.]

SIGNE
(grædende, er ilet til og opfanger hende i sine arme).

SIGNE.
[Weeping, has rushed up to her, and takes her in her arms.]
Margit! My sister!

GUDMUND
(på samme tid, støtter hende).
Hjælp, hjælp; hun dør!
(Bengt og gæsterne stimler under forskrækkede udråb sammen om dem.)

GUDMUND.
[At the same time, supporting her.]
Help! help! she is dying!
[BENGT and the GUESTS flock round them with cries of alarm.]

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