J. C. Freiherr von Zedlitz: “The Robber’s Wife”

Excerpt, “Translations from the German Poets of the 18th and 19th Centuries.” By Alice Lucas. London: 1876.

maiden tree

The Robber’s Wife

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The sun is setting so luridly red,

As though my true-love were prisoned and dead;

They have come down from the rocky hill,

They watch in the vale, they wait by the hill.

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They crouch in ditches and brushwood high,

Between the ruined old walls they lie;

And the road is held, and the pass is manned,

And on yonder height the sentinels stand.

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Oh! Sleep, my baby; my little one, sleep,

In the shady grot, by the fountain deep,

And a dainty lullaby I will sing

Of the nightly dance in the elfin ring.

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‘Ye elves, come, weave me’—What is’t I hear?

A shot! ’Twas his followers’ greeting cheer;

And he who receives it his cares are o’er;

He sleeps in peace, and awakes no more.

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‘Ye elves, come, weave me your floating veil’—

Hark! Shot on shot ringing through the dale;

Up whirls the smoke, with its clouds blue-grey;

Ah! Why is the combat so fierce today?

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‘Ye elves, come, weave me your floating veil,

For my darling child in your moonlit dale’—

That was his musket, its sound I hear,

None other thunders so loud and clear.

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And shot upon shot—no travelers they,

The servants of justice seize their prey;

No thought of booty is in that strife;

Alas! they are venturing life for life.

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Ah, woe is me! How cold is my brow!

My true-love’s shots, they are silent now;

I hear them no more—his musket is hushed;

Oh! How the blood to my heart it rushed!

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My knees are trembling! Ah! Woe is me!

My child, let us hasten, hasten to flee;

The sun is setting so luridly red,

As though my true-love were lying dead.