med sorgsen ton jag sjunga vill
om ett förfarligt under
du som det hör mark noga till
och minns det alla stunder
vid gibbau by vid penne strand
i pommern i det tyska land
sig denna saken hander
en fattig bonde bodde dar
och barn han hade manga
som gjorde honom stort besvar
om bröd han nödgas ganga
den aldsta dottern av sin far
samt mor och syskon avsked tar
och ger sig ut att tjana
en tid darefter hande sig
att fadern hennes dödde
och modern som sig ömkelig
pa kapp och krycka stödde
bad dottern som var tamligt rik
till graven hjalpa faderns lik
som barnslig plikt befaller
hon svarte det gar mig ej an
ej för mig skuld det bringar
begraven hur i vill och kan
men jag mitt mynt ej skingrar
hur jag gar kladder var man ser
stor sak vad grav man gubben ger
ej darom nagon sköter
da hennes fru slik hardhet sag
hon mera adelt tankte
hon var barmhartig i sin hag
hon mat och pengar skankte
dess fru gav henne tvenne bröd
att ge sin mor som led stor nöd
och sadan hjalp behövde
nar hon ett stycke hade gatt
och harmsen brödet burit
sin frus barmhartighet försmatt
och argt pa modern svurit
kom hon dar vagen oren var
tank vad för medel da hon tar
att fina skorna spara
dar fanns ej sten dar fanns ej spang
varpa hon kunde kliva
ga kring blev vagen alltför lang
ej vill hon smutsig bliva
da lagger hon de bröden sa
att hon pa dem kund torrskodd ga
men straffet resan stackte
dess fötter fastnar genast kvar
da hon pa brödet trader
pa benen hon förgaves drar
hon bannar svar och hadar
ty som en stor och jordfast sten
orörlig star ock hennes ben
i marken synes fasta
hon ropar da jag usla barn
försmatt min moder snalla
har sjalv mig snarjt i syndens garn
det far jag nu umgalla
om hjalp hon tigger varje man
de bjuda till men ingen kan
dess fot fran marken röra
ej kunde hon de sista ord
med bruten röst framföra
förran den eljest fasta jord
begynte sig att röra
hon knappte sina hander ihop
och sjönk sa neder i en grop
som henne strax betackte
i manniskor betanken er
högfarden laten fara
och girigheten som man ser
ar och en farlig snara
lat pigans ofard varna er
fran synd och flard allt mer och mer
och fran högfardig levnad
woeful tones
in woeful tones i mean to tell
a tale of dread and wonder
whoever hears it, listen well,
and on its meaning ponder.
in gibbau, by the penne sea,
in pomerania, in germany,
these strange events unfolded.
a farmer lived in poverty there
whose children were so many
that he was driven in despair
to beg for food and money.
the eldest daughter bade adieu
to sisters, brothers and parents too,
to earn a servant\'s wages.
some time later her father\'s soul
this earthly life departed.
her mother, who was lame and old,
by stick and crutch supported,
upon her wealthy daughter called
for help with the father\'s funeral,
as is a daughter\'s duty.
"why come to me?" the daughter said
"give him a pauper\'s burial!
i\'ll waste no money on the dead,
nor let my mind be troubled.
everyone sees the clothes i wear,
but what does anybody care
what grave the old man lies in?"
such words of cruelty dismayed
her nobler-hearted mistress.
she sent both money and food to aid
the family in her kindness.
the mistress gave two new-baked loaves
and bade the daughter carry those
home to her needy mother.
when she had gone a little way,
carrying the bread in anger,
despising her mistress\'s charity
and cursing her starving mother,
she came to a mud patch damp and deep
- and this is what she did to keep
her fine new shoes unsullied:
no stone nor plank nor bridge was there
to help her on her journey.
to leave her path she did not care
- that way was long and dirty.
the loaves of bread she threw straight down
as stepping-stones to drier ground
but this she soon regretted.
her feet stuck fast immediately
when on the bread they landed.
in vain she tried to pull them free,
she cursed and swore and ranted.
for like a stone stuck in the ground
her legs sank helpless deeper down
- she could not even move them.
she cries aloud,
"alas that i spurned
the pleas of my kind old mother!
this is the punishment i\'ve earned,
a wretched, sinful daughter!"
each passer-by for help she begs,
but none can free her earthbound legs
however hard they struggle.
she had not spoken her last words
in a voice trembling with terror
before the ground she stood on stirred
and opened wide beneath her.
in silent prayer her hands she clasped
and sank until the earth at last
all trace of her had covered.
all you who hear this tale, take care,
lest your own pride betray you.
remember likewise to beware
the tricks that greed can play you.
let this maid\'s fate warn everyone
the sin of luxury to shun
and vain, conceited living.
translation by alistar cochrane |
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