MARGIT.
Så lidet kan mine ord krænke jer. Min søster kender eder jo kun af de viser, som er gjort om eder, – og de viser klinger ilde for høviske øren.
Eders fædres gård er et utrygt hjem
mellem alle de vilde gæster.
Både nat og dag har I gilde med dem.
Krist hjælpe den ungmø, I fæster!
Krist hjælpe den ungmø, I lokker med guld,
med gods eller grønne skove; –
snart vil I se hende sorrigfuld
at længes, under muldet at sove.
MARGIT.
There is naught in my words to wound you. My sister knows you only by the songs that are made about you--and these songs sound but ill in gentle ears.
No peaceful home is your father’s house.
With your lawless, reckless crew,
Day out, day in, must you hold carouse--
God help her who mates with you.
God help the maiden you lure or buy
With gold and with forests green--
Soon will her sore heart long to lie
Still in the grave, I ween.
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