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.
The Robber’s Wife
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
‘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.
.
‘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?
.
‘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.
.
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.
.
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!
.
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.
