If there is a line of the English version above that you feel is incorrect, please write me and suggest a different translation.
| Original |
From the "Tomten
Farm and Sanctuary" site |
From "The
Anthology of Swedish Lyrics", 1917 |
| Midvinternattens
köld är hård, stjärnorna gnistra och glimma. Alla sova i enslig gård djupt under midnattstimma. Månen vandrar sin tysta ban, snön lyser vit på fur och gran, snön lyser vit på taken. Endast tomten är vaken |
Deep
in the grip of the midwinter cold The stars glitter and sparkle. All are asleep on this lonely farm, Deep in the winter night. The pale white moon is a wanderer, snow gleams white on pine and fir, snow gleams white on the roofs. Only tomten is awake. |
Cold is the night,
and still, and strange, Stars they glitter and shimmer. All are asleep in the lonely grange Under the midnight's glimmer. On glides the moon in gulfs profound; Snow on the firs and pines around, Snow on the roofs is gleaming. All but the goblin are dreaming. |
| Står
där så grå vid ladgårdsdörr, grå mot den vita driva, tittar, som många vintrar förr, upp emot månens skiva, tittar mot skogen, där gran och fur drar kring gården sin dunkla mur, grubblar, fast ej det lär båta, över en underlig gåta. |
Gray,
he stands by the low barn door, Gray by the drifted snow, Gazing, as many winters he’s gazed, Up at the moon’s chill glow, Then at the forest where fir and pine Circle the farm in a dusky line, Mulling relentlessly A riddle that has no key. |
Gray he stands at
the barnyard door, Gray by the drifts of white there, Looks, as oft he has looked before, Up at the moon so bright there; Looks at the woods, where the fir-trees tall Shut the grange in with their dusky wall; Ponders — some problem vexes, Some strange riddle perplexes — |
| För
sin hand genom skägg och hår, skakar huvud och hätta --- »nej, den gåtan är alltför svår, nej, jag gissar ej detta» --- slår, som han plägar, inom kort slika spörjande tankar bort, går att ordna och pyssla, går att sköta sin syssla. |
Rubs
his hand through his beard and hair, Shakes his head and his cap. “No, that question is much too deep, I cannot fathom that.” Then making his mind up in a hurry, He shrugs away the annoying worry; Turns at his own command, Turns to the task at hand. |
Passes his hand o'er
beard and hair, Shaking his head and cap then: " Nay, that riddle's too hard, I swear, I'll ne'er guess it mayhap then. " But, as his wont is, he soon drives out All such thoughts of disturbing doubt, Frees his old head of dizziness, And turns him at once to business. |
| Går
till visthus och redskapshus, känner på alla låsen --- korna drömma vid månens ljus sommardrömmar i båsen; glömsk av sele och pisk och töm Pålle i stallet har ock en dröm: krubban han lutar över fylls av doftande klöver; --- |
Goes
to the storehouse and toolshop doors, Checking the locks of all, While the cows dream on in the cold moon’s light, Summer dreams in each stall. And free of harness and whip and rein, Even Old Pålle dreams again. The manger he’s drowsing over Brims with fragrant clover. |
First he tries if
the locks are tight, Safe against every danger. Each cow dreams in the pale moonlight Summer dreams by her manger. Dobbin, forgetful of bits that gall, Dreams like the cows in his well-filled stall, Leaning his neck far over Armfuls of fragrant clover. |
| Går
till stängslet för lamm och får, ser, hur de sova där inne; går till hönsen, där tuppen står stolt på sin högsta pinne; Karo i hundbots halm mår gott, vaknar och viftar svansen smått, Karo sin tomte känner, de äro gode vänner. |
The
tomte glances at sheep and lambs Cuddled in quiet rest. The chickens are next, where the rooster roosts High above straw filled nests. Burrowed in straw, hearty and hale, Karo wakens and wags his tail As if to say, “Old friend, “Partners we are to the end.” |
Then through the
bars he sees the sheep, Watches how well they slumber, Eyes the cock on his perch asleep, Round him hens without number. Carlo wakes at the goblin's tread, Wags then his tail and lifts his head; Well acquainted the two are, Friends that both tried and true are. |
| Tomten
smyger sig sist att se husbondfolket det kära, länge och väl han märkt, att de hålla hans flit i ära; barnens kammar han sen på tå nalkas att se de söta små, ingen må det förtycka: det är hans största lycka. |
At
last the tomte tiptoes in To see how the housefolk fare. He knows full well the strong esteem They feel for his faithful care. He tiptoes into the children’s beds, Silently peers at their tousled heads. There is no mistaking his pleasure: These are his greatest treasure. |
Last the goblin
slips in to see How all the folk are faring. Long have they known how faithfully He for their weal is caring. Treading lightly on stealthy toes, Into the children's room he goes, Looks at each tiny treasure: That is his greatest pleasure. |
| Så
har han sett dem, far och son, ren genom många leder slumra som barn; men varifrån kommo de väl hit neder? Släkte följde på släkte snart, blomstrade, åldrades, gick --- men vart? Gåtan, som icke låter gissa sig, kom så åter! |
Long
generations has he watched Father to son to son Sleeping as babes. But where, he asks, From where, from where have they come? Families came, families went, Blossomed and aged, a lifetime spent, Then-Where? That riddle again Unanswered in his brain! |
So has he seen them,
sire and son, Year by year in that room there Sleep first as children every one. Ah, but whence did they come there? This generation to that was heir, Blossomed, grew old, and was gone — but where? That is the hopeless, burning Riddle ever returning. |
| Tomten
vandrar till ladans loft: där har han bo och fäste högt på skullen i höets doft, nära vid svalans näste; nu är väl svalans boning tom, men till våren med blad och blom kommer hon nog tillbaka, följd av sin näpna maka. |
Slowly
he turns to the barnyard loft, His fortress, his home and rest, High in the mow, in the fragrant hay Near to the swallow’s nest. The nest is empty, but in the spring When birds mid leaves and blossoms sing, And come with her tiny mate. |
Back to the barn he
goes to rest, Where he has fixed his dwelling Up in the loft near the swallow's nest, Sweet there the hay is smelling. Empty the swallow's nest is now, Back though he 'll come when the grass and bough Bud in the warm spring weather, He and his mate together. |
| Då
har hon alltid att kvittra om månget ett färdeminne, intet likväl om gåtan, som rör sig i tomtens sinne. Genom en springa i ladans vägg lyser månen på gubbens skägg, strimman på skägget blänker, tomten grubblar och tänker. |
Then
will she talk of the journey tell. Twittering to all who hear it, But nary a hint for the question old That stirs in the tomte’s spirit. Now through cracks in the haymow wall The moon lights tomte and hay and all, Lights his beard through the chinks, The tomte ponders and thinks. |
Always they twitter
away about Places through which they 've travelled, Caring naught for the goblin's doubt, Though it were ne'er unravelled. Through a chink in one of the walls Moonlight on the old goblin falls, White o'er his beard it wanders; Still he puzzles and ponders. |
| Tyst
är skogen och nejden all, livet där ute är fruset, blott från fjärran av forsens fall höres helt sakta bruset. Tomten lyssnar och, halvt i dröm, tycker sig höra tidens ström, undrar, varthän den skall fara, undrar, var källan må vara. |
Still
is the forest and all the land, Locked in this wintry year. Only the distant waterfall Whispers and sighs in his ear. The tomte listens and, half in dream, Thinks that he hears Time’s endless stream, And wonders, where is it bound? Where is its source to be found? |
Forest and field are
silent all, Frost their whole life congealing, Save that the roar of the waterfall Faintly from far is stealing. Then the goblin, half in a dream, Thinks it is Time's unpausing stream, Wonders whither 't is going, And from what spring 't is flowing. |
| Midvinternattens
köld är hård, stjärnorna gnistra och glimma. Alla sova i enslig gård gott intill morgontimma. Månen sänker sin tysta ban, snön lyser vit på fur och gran, snön lyser vit på taken. Endast tomten är vaken. |
Deep
in the grip of the midwinter cold, The stars glitter and sparkle. All are asleep on this lonely farm, Late in this winter night. The pale white moon is a wanderer, snow gleams white on pine and fir, snow gleams white on the roofs. Only tomten is awake. |
Cold is the night,
and still, and strange, Stars they glitter and shimmer. All yet sleep in the lonely grange Soundly till morn shall glimmer. Now sinks the moon in night profound; Snow on the firs and pines around, Snow on the roofs is gleaming. All but the goblin are dreaming. |