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Fairytales - the Album

cd cover, Andrej Grilc


is a concert program created by the Nordic Light Duo. It is inspired by the wonderful fantasy world of the beloved Swedish children’s author Elsa Beskow. Her fairytales run through the music like a golden thread.

The program is divided into five sections, each one representing a fairytale: Flower’s Festival, The Curious Perch, Putte’s Adventures in Blueberry Land, The Journey to the Land Long Ago and The Sun Egg. In each section the listener gets immersed into an exciting story, enriched by Elsa’s original illustrations. These texts and pictures are accompanied by selected songs and piano pieces that match the storyline. Two illustrations are published here for the first time and can only be admired in this booklet, thanks to Daniel Beskow’s family connection with Elsa Beskow, his paternal great-grandmother. Due to these close ties, the project Fairytales was born in 2018, when the duo decided to revive Elsa’s fairytale world and develop a new musical concept. They firmly believe that Elsa’s work belongs to the European cultural heritage and, by releasing it in a musical disguise, they seized the opportunity to pay tribute to this extraordinary woman and reveal her work to a new, broader audience.

               In Sweden Fairytales have become a huge success, crowned by more than hundred concerts over the recent years. The intimate setting, personal approach, special atmosphere and innovative combination of literature, music and visual arts remain the highlights of this thrilling project that now can be enjoyed on this recording.



4,5 of 5 stars    "This is in every aspect an outstanding release..."


In a world flooded with fake news, those susceptible to make-believe should do well to seek refuge in the land of fairytales. That was my first thought when this new ARS Produktion release landed on my desk. I don’t know anyone that is too young or too old for that kind of make-believe. It’s probably the best remedy to turn a bag of lies into a bag of dreams.

Everything about this release is special. To start with the packaging. Not the usual plastic jewel box. Folded in a carton cover we have the disc to the left and a booklet glued to the right side with not only the usual liner notes about music and artists, but also, and that was a real surprise, a series of Art Nouveaux and Retro-Style illustrations. This alone is already worth exploring this album. But there is, of course, more to have a thorough look at.

Inspired by the famous Swedish children’s author and illustrator, Elsa Beskov, so tell me the liner notes, The Nordic Light Duo created a ‘concept’ of songs, interspersed with piano solos, divided into five sections, each representing one of Beskow’s fairytales. The programme is mainly, but not exclusively, made up of songs by Nordic composers, enriched by illustrations made and used by Elsa, also known as the Swedish Beatrix Potter. 

Though written by famous Nordic Composers, like Grieg and Sibelius, it would seem to me that nonetheless many of the songs are unfamiliar to most of us. By furthermore adding songs of Scandinavian composers hitherto practically unknown, like Lange-Müller, Sjögren, and Peterson-Berger, this survey becomes a document of exceptional interest. The only quibble one might have: What are Mozart, Schubert, Schumann, and Fanny Mendelssohn doing in this company? The answer is that they are part of, or fit in with the farytales. They strengthen the idea behind the programme as designed by the members of The Nordic Duo: Josefine Andersson, mezzo-soprano, and Daniel Beskow, great grandchild of Elsa’s, at the piano.

Nothing is more personal than a person’s voice. Appreciation by an audience can go either way. As it turns out, Josefine’s voice has more of a lyrical than a dramatical opera style, at times using a fair amount of vibrato to lend weight to her voice. Her diction is most expressive, as could have been expected from a confirmed opera singer. It fits in marvellously well with the fairy environment of make-believe. Beskow is an admirably supportive partner, contributing not only with the quality of his playing but also by making available two unpublished illustrations through his family ties. 

As so often in an anthology, not all compositions are of the same qualitative level. But this has no bearing whatsoever on the level of singing. Each song gets its own, personalized attention. In my view, one of the best and sung so beautifully is a song from the outside Denmark little-known Danish composer, Peter Erasmus Lange-Müller (track 11). Moreover, taking this album in its total conceptual format, I find that one of the prime attractions is the variety and the order in which of songs are presented, including Daniel Beskow’s choices for his solo intermezzi. 

In conclusion: This is in every aspect an outstanding release that should (and no doubt will) find its way amongst a wider public than just lovers of songs and fine illustrations. Reading and savouring the booklet is an unexpected, hugely enjoyable pleasure. Texts of the tales are provided in the original Swedish language, with translation into English. Nordic Light Duo as well as ARS ought to get our heartfelt gratitude for this production. 

Blangy-le-Château, Normandy, France.

Copyright © 2022 Adrian Quanjer and


Text and English translations to the lieder:

Text and translations

Två fjärilar (Tore Forslund)

Det var en gång två fjärilar, så var det sol och sommardoft!
å, det var sol och blomsterdoft,
och molnens hvita jungfrur de lekte på himmelens blåa loft i solen.

Två fjärilar, de fladdrade bland blad och blomster hit och dit,
den ena hette Liljahvit och Rosenröd den andra,
och Rosenröd jagade Liljahvit i solen!


Två fjärilar, två fjärilar!
Liljahvit flydde för Rosenröd, och rundt omkring stod sommarns glöd,
och alla blomsterkalkar de stodo fulla utaf mjöd i solen.

Två fjärilar, de dansade en hvirfveldans i doft och sol,
då logo vallmo och viol och ville med i dansen,
och alla myggor spelte fiol i solen.

Två fjärilar, de tumlade bland blad och blomster upp och ned,
Liljahvit in i en buske gled och Rosenröd gled efter,
sen var jag inte längre med i solen.

Two Butterflies

Once upon a time there were two butterflies, and there was sun and the scent of summer!               oh, it was sun and the flower fragrance,                                                  

and the white maidens of the clouds they played in the blue loft of the sky in the sun.                  


Two butterflies, they fluttered among leaves and flowers hither and thither,                                

one was called Lily-white and Rose-red the other,                                            

and Rose Red chased Lily White in the sun!  


Two butterflies, two butterflies!                                                  

Lily-white fled from Rose-red, and all around stood the glow of summer,                                

and all the flower cups were full of mead in the sun.  


Two butterflies, they danced a whirlwind dance in fragrance and sun,                                

then smiled poppies and violets and wanted to join in the dance,                                    

and all the mosquitoes played the violin in the sun.                                            


Two butterflies, they tumbled among leaves and flowers up and down,                                

Lily-white into a bush glided, and Rose-red glided after,                                        

then I was no longer with them in the sun.

Vitsippan (Frans Mikael Franzén)

Se vitsippan hur täck hon är,

men ack! hur förgänglig.

Knappt av din hand hon bryts,

innan hon dör i din hand.

Henne i ömhet lik som i täckhet,

akta dig, flicka,

att, av förförar'n kysst,

du ej må vissna som hon.

The Wood Anemone


Look at the wood anemone how beautiful she is,

but alas! how perishable.

Barely by your hand she is plucked,

before she dies in your hand.

Her in tenderness as in beauty,

beware girl

that, by the seducer's kiss,

you must not wither like her.

Blomsterflickan mindre.jpg

Blåsippan (Frans Mikael Franzén)

Vad lärkan bådat har från skyn,                    

det vittnar du på jordens bryn,                        

du vårens förstling, främst bland alla!              

Dock såsom allt, vad skönt vi kalla,                    

åt himlen visar du också                                  

med dina ögon himmelsblå.

The Blue Anemone


What the lark has announced from the sky,

you see on the surface of the earth,

you spring's firstborn, foremost among all!

However, like everything, that we call beautiful ,

you also show to the firmament

with your sky blue eyes.

Sippan (Johan Ludvig Runeberg)

Sippa, vårens första blomma,

Om jag bröt dig, om jag gaf dig

Åt den älskade, den kalla!

Bröt jag dig, jag skulle ge dig,

Gaf jag dig, jag skulle säga:

"Nära drifvans kant, o flicka,

Växte vårens första blomma,

Som vid isen af ditt hjerta

Blommar upp min trogna kärlek,

Bäfvande för vinterkylan,

Men ej qväfd af den, ej skördad."

The Anemone


Anemone, the first flower of spring,

If I broke you, if I gave you

to the beloved, the cold!

Did I break you, I would give you,

If I gave you, I would say:

"Near the edge of the snow drift, O girl,

Grew spring's first flower,

Like the ice of your heart

Blooms up my faithful love,

Trembling for the winter cold,

But not suffocated by it, not harvested."

Blommans öde (J.L. Runeberg)

Barn af våren

Rov för höstens vind,

Blomma, säg vi dröjer tåren

På din späda kind?

"Solen dalar,

Stormens röst jag hör."

Så den späda blomman talar,

Träffas, bräcks och dör.

The Fate of the Flower

Child of spring

Plundered by autumn’s wind,

Flower, say why the tear remains

Upon your tender cheek?

‘The sun descends,

I hear the storm’s voice.’

This is what the tender flower says,

It is battered, broken, and dies.

(c) Andrej Grilc--2.jpg

De bägge rosorna (Frans Mikael Franzén)

Rosen, ja, rosen likväl är skönast i kransen af blommor;

Derför ock himlen sjelf lånar till prydnad dess färg.

Äfven den hvita är täck: men hvad skönhet, när begge tillsammans,

Spruckna på oskuldens kind, höja hvarandras behag!

Both Roses


The rose, yes, the rose nevertheless is most beautiful in the wreath of flowers;

Therefore the sky itself lends its color for decoration.

Even the white is beautiful: but what beauty, when both together,

Cracked on the cheek of the innocent, heighten each other's beauty!

Törnet (Johan Ludvig Runeberg)

Törne, du min syskonplanta,

Svept i vinterns is, försmås du,

Höljd af taggar, hatas du.

Men jag tänker: kommer våren,

Slår du ut i blad och rosor,

Och en växt fins ej på jorden,

Ljuf och älskad såsom du.

O, hur mången törnestängel

Står ej naken i naturen,

Som behöfde kärlek blott,

Blott en solblick af ett hjerta,

För att kläda sig i rosor

Och hvart väsens glädje bli!

The Thorn


Thorn, you my sibling plant,

Swept in winter's ice, you are scorned,

Covered in thorns, you are hated.

But I think: spring will come,

You burst out in leaves and roses,

And a plant does not exist on earth,

More sweet and lovely like you.

Oh, how many thorns

Stands now naked in nature,

Who only needed love,

Just a glimpse of sunshine from a heart,

So it can be dress in roses and 

Become every beings joy!

Blomdans.tif mindre.tif

Heidenröslein (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

Sah ein Knab’ ein Röslein stehen,

Röslein auf der Heiden,

War so jung und morgenschön,

Lief er schnell, es nah zu sehn,

Sah’s mit vielen Freuden.

Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot,

Röslein auf der Heiden.

Knabe sprach: Ich breche dich,

Röslein auf der Heiden!

Röslein sprach: Ich steche dich,

Dass du ewig denkst an mich,

Und ich will’s nicht leiden.

Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot,

Röslein auf der Heiden.

Und der wilde Knabe brach's

Röslein auf der Heiden;

Röslein wehrte sich und stach,

Half ihm doch kein Weh und Ach,

Musst es eben leiden.

Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot,

Röslein auf der Heiden.

The Wild Rose

A boy saw a wild rose

growing in the heather;

it was so young, and as lovely as the morning.

He ran swiftly to look more closely,

looked on it with great joy.

Wild rose, wild rose, wild rose red,

wild rose in the heather.

Said the boy: I shall pluck you,

wild rose in the heather!

Said the rose: I shall prick you

so that you will always remember me.

And I will not suffer it.

Wild rose, wild rose, wild rose red,

wild rose in the heather.

And the impetuous boy plucked

the wild rose from the heather;

the rose defended herself and pricked him,

but her cries of pain were to no avail;

she simply had to suffer.

Wild rose, wild rose, wild rose red,

wild rose in the heather.

(c) Andrej Grilc-05427.jpg

Das Veilchen (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

Ein Veilchen auf der Wiese stand,

Gebückt in sich und unbekannt;

Es war ein herzigs Veilchen.

Da kam ein’ junge Schäferin

Mit leichtem Schritt und muntrem Sinn

Daher, daher,

Die Wiese her, und sang.

Ach! denkt das Veilchen, wär ich nur

Die schönste Blume der Natur,

Ach, nur ein kleines Weilchen,

Bis mich das Liebchen abgepflückt

Und an dem Busen matt gedrückt!

Ach nur, ach nur

Ein Viertelstündchen lang!

Ach! aber ach! das Mädchen kam

Und nicht in Acht das Veilchen nahm,

Ertrat das arme Veilchen.

Es sank und starb und freut’ sich noch:

Und sterb’ ich denn, so sterb’ ich doch

Durch sie, durch sie,

Zu ihren Füßen doch.

Das arme Veilchen

Es war ein herzigs Veilchen!

The Violet

A violet was growing in the meadow,

Unnoticed and with bowed head;

It was a dear sweet violet.

Along came a young shepherdess,

Light of step and happy of heart,

Along, along

Through the meadow, and sang.

Ah! thinks the violet, if I were only

The loveliest flower in all Nature,

Ah! for only a little while,

Till my darling had picked me

And crushed me against her bosom!

Ah only, ah only

For a single quarter hour!

But alas, alas, the girl drew near

And took no heed of the violet,

Trampled the poor violet.

It sank and died, yet still rejoiced:

And if I die, at least I die

Through her, through her

And at her feet.

The poor violet!

It was a dear sweet violet!

Aakande (Vilhelm Bergsøe)

Du, min stille Lotusblomst, fra Skovsøens Rand,

Du Svane, som på Bølgen Dig vugger,

Siig, synker du om Natten til Drømmenes Land?

Er det derfor, at Din Krone du lukker?

Er det derfor, Du sænker Dig i Skovdybets Væld,

Når Aftenstjernen over Dig blinker?

Ak, åben mig Dit Bæger blot en eneste Kvæld,

Det er Mere end Drømmen, som Dig vinker.

The Water Lilly 


You, my quiet Lotus flower, from the forest lake's edge,

You swan, who on the waves cradle,

Say, do you sink at night to the land of dreams?

Is that why you are closing your crown?

Is that why you sink into the depths of the forest,

When the evening star above you twinkles?

Alas, open me your cup just for one evening,

This means more to me than the dream that beckons you.

Fischerweise (Franz Schlechta)

Den Fischer fechten Sorgen

Und Gram und Leid nicht an;

Er löst am frühen Morgen

Mit leichtem Sinn den Kahn.

Da lagert rings noch Friede

Auf Wald und Flur und Bach,

Er ruft mit seinem Liede

Die gold’ne Sonne wach.

Er singt zu seinem Werke

Aus voller frischer Brust,

Die Arbeit gibt ihm Stärke,

Die Stärke Lebenslust.

Bald wird ein bunt’ Gewimmel

In allen Tiefen laut

Und plätschert durch den Himmel,

Der sich im Wasser baut.

Doch wer ein Netz will stellen,

Braucht Augen klar und gut,

Muss heiter gleich den Wellen

Und frei sein wie die Flut.

Dort angelt auf der Brücke

Die Hirtin, Schlauer Wicht,

Gib auf nur deiner Tücke,

Den Fisch betrügst du nicht!

Fisherman's Ditty

The fisherman is not plagued

by cares, grief or sorrow.

In the early morning he casts off

his boat with a light heart.

Round about, peace still lies

over forest, meadow and stream,

with his song the fisherman

bids the golden sun awake.

He sings at his work

from a full, vigorous heart.

His work gives him strength,

his strength exhilarates him.

Soon a bright multitude

will resound in the depths,

and splash

through the watery heavens.

But whoever wishes to set a net

needs good, dear eyes,

must be as cheerful as the waves,

and as free as the tide.

There, on the bridge, the shepherdess

is fishing. Cunning wench,

leave off your tricks!

You won’t deceive this fish!

Die Forelle (Christian Schubart)

In einem Bächlein helle,

Da schoß in froher Eil'

Die launische Forelle

Vorüber wie ein Pfeil.

Ich stand an dem Gestade

Und sah in süßer Ruh

Des muntern Fischleins Bade

Im klaren Bächlein zu.

Ein Fischer mit der Rute

Wohl an dem Ufer stand,

Und sah's mit kaltem Blute,

Wie sich das Fischlein wand.

So lang dem Wasser Helle,

So dacht ich, nicht gebricht,

So fängt er die Forelle

Mit seiner Angel nicht.

Doch endlich ward dem Diebe

Die Zeit zu lang. Er macht

Das Bächlein tückisch trübe,

Und eh ich es gedacht,

So zuckte seine Rute,

Das Fischlein zappelt dran,

Und ich mit regem Blute

Sah die Betrogene an.

The trout

In a limpid brook

the capricious trout

in joyous haste

darted by like an arrow.

I stood on the bank

in blissful peace, watching

the lively fish swim 

in the clear brook.

An angler with his rod 

stood on the bank

cold-bloodedly watching 

the fish’s contortions.

As long as the water 

is clear, I thought,

he won’t catch the trout 

with his rod.

But at length the thief

grew impatient. Cunningly

he made the brook cloudy, 

and in an instant

his rod quivered,

and the fish struggled on it.

And I, my blood boiling,

looked on at the cheated creature.

(c) Andrej Grilc-05673.jpg

Vilse (Karl August Tavaststjerna)

Vi gingo väl vilse ifrån hvarann,

hvar togo de andra vägen?

Jag ropar i skogen hvad jag kan,

men du står och låtsar förlägen.

Blott eko, det svarar: hallå, hallå!

Och gäckande skrattar en skata,

men himmeln blir plötsligen dubbelt så blå,

och vi höra upp att prata.

Säg, skullde din puls slå takt till min,

när samtalet går, så staccato?

Min kärlek, min kärlek tar våldsamt mitt sinn',

jag glömmer att känna som Plato.

Jag ser i ditt öga, jag forskar och ser,

pupillerna vidgas och slutas,

och när du ett ögonblick strålande ler,

då kunde ett helgon mutas.



We went astray from each other

Where did the others go?

I call into the woods what I can

But you stand there and feign embarrassment.

Only the echo answers: hello, hello!

And a magpie laughs mockingly.

But the heavens become suddenly twice as blue,

And we cease to speak.

Say, should your pulse beat at the same rate as mine,

When the conversation goes so staccato?

My love, my love, be overcome by this feeling,

I forget to feel like Plato,

I look into your eyes, I search and look,

The pupils widen and narrow,

And when you brilliantly smile for an instant,

Then a saint could be bribed.

Skogen sover, ängen drömmer (Anna Wahlenberg)

Skogen sover, ängen drömmer,

rosenbuskar stå i knopp,

vågen sina danser glömmer,

fåglarna i trädets topp

stuckit huvet under vingen,

morgontyst är fält och mark.

Ögon vila, fötter vila,

ingen går i kungens stora park.

Då på slottets trappa i sin vita kappa,

i sin ungdoms vår vackra prinsen står.

Då med ens är sömnen slut,

då slå alla rosor ut.

The forest sleeps, the meadow dreams

The forest sleeps, the meadow dreams,

rose bushes stand in bud,

the wave forgets its dances,

the birds in the top of the tree

tuck their heads under their wings,

morning silence is fields and land.


Eyes rest, feet rest,

no one walks in the king's great park.

Then on the stairs of the castle in his white coat,

in the spring of his youth the beautiful prince stands.

And the the sleep is over,

then all the roses bust out.

Putte 1 mindre.tif

Jungfru blond och jungfru brunett (Bo Bergman)

Jungfru Blond och jungfru Brunett                                                        

dansa med fingret på kjolen.                                                            

Så höstklar är luften och lätt, lätt, lätt,

lätt som de svingande

jungfrurnas klingande glädje i solen.

Se på.

Nu höja de sig,

nu böja de sig,

och ögonen lysa och flätorna slå

och kinden har heta fläckar.

men långt över ängens gulnade vall

står rymden kall,

och nakna stå träd och häckar.

O jungfrur, vi dansen I än

och sjungen och skratten?

Det faller en stjärna igen,

och snart kommer natten.

Den kommer som tjuven, när ingen ser

och ingen ber.

Som en rovfågelssvärm slår den ner

och förmörkar vägar och vatten.

Jungfru Blond och jungfru Brunett

stanna förskrämda i dansen.

Hur hemskt blev allting med ett

i den sista döende glansen.

Det visslar i vinden och smuger på tå

och skrattar i ris och dungar.

De stackars jungfrurna små

skälva som fågelungar.

Och vita i kinden, med flätor som slå, slå, slå,

rusa de hemåt båda.

Härute är villor och våda,

men hemma är världen en spiselvrå

och mor den enda i världen.

Hon sitter så tyst och tvinnar och snor

och stirrar frysande

in i de lysande glöden på härden.

De gömma sitt hjärta hos mor

och kyssa den gamlas händer,

och timmarna rinna och kvälln blir stor,

det rasslar i brasans bränder.

Men ute som troll på tå

det mumlande mörkret skrider:

- Ni käraste jungfrur små,

jag tar er väl vad det lider...

Miss Blond and Miss Brunette

Maiden Blonde and Maiden Brunette

lift their skirts as they dance.

Autumnal the air and light,

light as the swirling

Maids’ resounding joy in the sun.


now they rise up,

now they bow,

And their eyes are bright and plaits fly

And cheeks are flushed.

But far above the meadow’s yellowed grass

the sky is cold,

And trees and hedgerows are bare.

Oh maidens, how can you still dance,

sing and laugh?

Another shooting-star is seen

And soon night will fall.

It comes like the thief, when no one is looking

and no one asks.

It comes down like a swarm of predators

And darkens paths and waters.


Maiden Blonde and Maiden Brunette

Stop terrified in their dancing.

How ghastly everything has suddenly

become in the last dying rays.

There howls the wind, and sneaks on tiptoes,

And laughs in branches and groves

The poor little maidens

Tremble like tiny birds.


And with pale cheeks, and flying plaits

They rush homewards.

Outside is confusion and danger

But at home the world is a fireplace

And mother is the only one in the world.

She sits so quietly spinning her thread

And stares, freezing

into the bright coals in the hearth.


They hide their hearts with mother

And kiss the old one's hands.

And the hours run by and the evening grows,

And the fire crackles.


But outside, like a troll on tiptoe,

The murmuring darkness advances

Dearest little maidens,

I shall have you in time…


(c) Andrej Grilc-05667.jpg

Killingdans (Arne Garborg)

Å hipp og hoppe og tipp og toppe på denne Dag;

å nipp og nappe og tripp og trappe i slikt eit Lag.

Og det er Kjæl-i-Sol, og det er Spel-i-Sol,

og det er Titr-i-Li, og det er Glitr-i-Li,

og det er Kjæte og Lurvelæte

ein Solskinsdag.

Å nupp i Nakken, og stup i Bakken og tipp på Tå;

å rekk i Ringen og svipp i Svingen og hopp-i-hå.

Og det er Sleik-i-Sol, og det er Leik-i-Sol.

og det er Glim-i-Li, og det er Stim-i-Li,

og det er Kvitter og Bekkje-Glitter

og lognt i Krå.

Å trapp og tralle og Puff i Skalle, den skal du ha!

Og snipp og snute, og Kyss på Trute, den kan du ta.

Og det er Rull-i-Ring, og det er Sull-i-Sving,

og det er Lett-på-Tå, og det er Sprett-på-Tå,

og det er hei-san og det er hoppsan og tra-la-la!

Kidlings' Dance

Oh skip and a hop and a trip and a trop today;

O nip and a nap and a trip and a trap in a way.

And its love in the sun, and it’s play in the sun

And it’s a song on the hill and a bong on the hill,

And it’s a longing and a suchlike

on a sunny day.

Oh nip in the neck and fall down and tiptoe,

And in the ring and in the swing and a hop and a ho!

And it’s fun in the sun, and it’s play in the sun,

And it’s glimmering and it’s stimmering

And it’s twittering and it’s glittering

on a peaceful day.

Oh it’s a step and a stop and a bang on the head for you.

It’s a ship and a snap and a kiss on the lips for you.

And it’s a roll in the ring and a sing on the swing

And up on your toes and and up she goes

oh tra la la.

Des Sennen Abschied (Friedrich von Schiller)

Ihr Matten, lebt wohl,

Ihr sonnigen Weiden!

Der Senne muß scheiden,

Der Sommer ist hin.

Wir fahren zu Berg, wir kommen wieder,

Wenn der Kuckuck ruft, wenn erwachen die Lieder,

Wenn mit Blumen die Erde sich kleidet neu,

Wenn die Brünnlein fließen im lieblichen Mai.

Ihr Matten, lebt wohl,

Ihr sonnigen Weiden!

Der Senne muß scheiden,

Der Sommer ist hin.

The Alpine Herdsman's Farewell

Farewell, you meadows,

You sunny pastures!

The herdsman must leave you,

Summer is over.

We’ll return to the mountains, we’ll come again,

When the cuckoo calls, when songs awaken,

When the earth is freshly clothed with flowers,

When the brooklets are flowing in lovely May.

Farewell, you meadows,

You sunny pastures!

The herdsman must leave you,

Summer is over.

Intet är som väntans tider (Erik Axel Karlfeldt)

Intet är som väntanstider,

vårflodsveckor, knoppningstider,

ingen maj en dager sprider

som den klarnande april.

Kom på stigens sista halka,

skogen ger sin dävna svalka

och sitt djupa sus därtill.

Sommarns vällust vill jag skänka

för de första strån som blänka

i en dunkel furusänka,

och den första trastens drill.

Intet är som längtanstider,

väntansår, trolofningstider.

Ingen vår ett skimmer sprider

som en hemlig hjärtanskär.

Sällan mötas, skiljas snarligt,

drömma om allt ljuvt och farligt

livet i sitt sköte bär!

Gyllne frukt må andra skaka;

jag vill dröja och försaka,

i min lustgåd vill jag vaka,

medan träden knoppas där.

Nothing quite like times of waiting

Nothing quite like times of waiting!

Spring-flood weeks and spring-time budding,

no May-time quite as bright

as April growing light.

Come, let’s walk the path’s last frost –

the forest will provide its moistened coolness

and its own deep hum for us.

All the joys of summer I’d give

for the first spiring blades of grass

gleaming in a pine copse,

and the first twitter of the thrush.

Nothing quite like times of longing,

Years of waiting, long engagements.

Not even spring’s shimmering brightness

Is the equal of a secret hearts’ desire.

Meeting seldom, parting quickly,

dreaming dreams of joys and sorrows

all life in its fullness brings!

Golden fruits I’ll leave for others;

I will linger and forsake them,

in my Eden I’ll keep vigil,

As the trees grow greener there.

(c) Andrej Grilc-06042.jpg

Böljeby-vals (Erik Axel Karlfeldt)


Sjung, sjung i alarna,
flygande storm, du kämpars vän,
sjung, sjung i salarna;
glimmande höstlöv fara.

Stolt under ekarna
prunkar en senad skara än,
trofast i lekarna,
trofast i storm och fara.

Fast, fast mot rockarna
slå dessa bröst som stormen spänt,
lugnt under lockarna
trotsiga blickar fara.

Än från altanerna,
där sina lyktor vildvin tändt,
ler mot kompanerna
kvinnornas unga skara.

Snart, snart på planerna
möter jag dig som ingen vet.
Stark som orkanerna
känslornas vindar fara.

Går du i tågande
skyarnas svalka röd och het?
Ord har jag lågande,
länge jag måst dem spara.

Sol, sol i ekarna
tänd nu till balen höstens bloss!
Mörkt brinna vekarna;
dånande vågor fara.

Våren, den susande,
har inga visor mer för oss.
Livet är brusande
stormsång och stormdans bara. 



Sing, sing in the alders,                                              flying storm, you warrior's friend,                           sing, sing in the halls;                                             glistening autumn leaves rush.  

Proud under the oaks,                                               a late crowd still flaunts,                                         faithful in the games,                                               faithful in storm and danger.

Firm, firm against the coats                                     beat these chests that the tempest has tensed,           calm under the curls

defiant glances wanders.


Still from the porches,                                             where their lanterns wild wine lit,                           smiles at the companions                                         the young crowd of women.


Soon, soon in the courtyards                                     I will meet you that no one knows.                           Strong as the hurricanes                                           the winds of emotion ride.


Do you walk in the coolness                                     of the moving clouds, red and hot?                           I have words glowing,                                             as long I have had to save them.

Sun, sun in the oaks                                                   lit now for the prom autumn's flare!                         Dark burn the wicks;                                               thundering waves are blowing.


Spring, the whizzing one,                                       has no more songs for us.                                       Life is only roaring                                                 only storm song and storm dance.

Demanten på marssnön (Josef Julius Wecksell)

På drivans snö där glimmer

en diamant så klar.

Ej fanns en tår, en pärla,

Som högre skimrat har.

Utav en hemlig längtan

hon blinker himmelskt så:

hon blickar emot solen,

där skön den ses uppgå.

Vid foten av dess stråle

Tillbedjande hon står

och kysser den i kärlek

och smälter i en tår.

O, sköna lott att älska

Det högsta livet ter,

att stråla i dess solblick

och dö, när skönst den ler!

The diamond on the March snow

Upon the driven snow there glitters

a diamond so clear.

Never was a tear, or pearl

That had a greater shine.

Out of a secret longing

she sparkles like the heavens:

she looks up to the sun

the moment it ascends.

At the foot of its beam

Adoringly she stands

and kisses it in passion

and melts it in a tear.

O, fairest fate to love

The highest that life brings,

to glisten in its radiance,

and die, amid its smile.

solägget 2 mindre.tif

Kennst du das Land? (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen blühn,

Im dunklen Laub die Gold-Orangen glühn,

Ein sanfter Wind vom blauen Himmel weht,

Die Myrte still und hoch der Lorbeer steht,

Kennst du es wohl?


Dahin! Dahin

Möcht’ ich mit dir, o mein Geliebter, ziehn.


Kennst du das Haus? Auf Säulen ruht sein Dach,

Es glänzt der Saal, es schimmert das Gemach,

Und Mamorbilder stehn und sehn mich an:

Was hat man dir, du armes Kind, getan?

Kennst du es wohl?


Dahin! Dahin

Möcht’ ich mit dir, o mein Beschützer, ziehn.


Kennst du den Berg und seinen Wolkensteg?

Das Maultier sucht im Nebel seinen Weg;

In Höhlen wohnt der Drachen alte Brut;

Es stürzt der Fels und über ihn die Flut,

Kennst du ihn wohl?


Dahin! Dahin

Geht unser Weg! o Vater, lass uns ziehn!

Do you know the land?

Do you know the land where lemon trees blossom;

where golden oranges glow amid dark leaves?

A gentle wind blows from the blue sky,

the myrtle stands silent, the laurel tall:

do you know it?


There, O there

I desire to go with you, my beloved!


Do you know the house? Its roof rests on pillars,

the hall gleams, the chamber shimmers,

and marble statues stand and gaze at me:

what have they done to you, poor child?

Do you know it?


There, O there

I desire to go with you, my protector!


Do you know the mountain and its clouded path?

The mule seeks its way through the mist,

in caves the ancient brood of dragons dwells;

the rock falls steeply, and over it the torrent.

Do you know it?


There, O there

lies our way. O father, let us go!

Italien (Franz Grillparzer)

Schöner und schöner

Schmückt sich der Plan,

Schmeichelnde Winde

Wehen mich an;

Fort aus der Prosa

Lasten und Müh,

Flieg ich zum Lande

Der Poesie;

Goldner die Sonne,

Blauer die Luft,

Grüner die Grüne,

Würzger der Duft.


Dort an dem Maishalm,

Schwellend von Saft,

Sträubt sich der Aloe

Störrische Kraft.

Ölbaum, Cypresse,

Blond du, du braun,

Nickt ihr wie zierliche,

Grüßende Fraun?

Was glänzt im Laube,

Funkelnd wie Gold?

Ha, Pomeranze,

Birgst du dich hold!


Trotzger Poseidon,

Warest du dies,

Der unten scherzt und

Murmelt so süß?

Und dies halb Wiese, halb

Äther zu schaun,

Es war des Meeres

Furchtbares Graun?

Hier will ich wohnen!

Göttliche du,

Bringst du, Parthenope,

Wogen zur Ruh?

Nun dann versuch es,

Eden der Lust,

Ebne die Wogen

Auch dieser Brust!


The plain grows

Fairer and fairer,

Flattering breezes

Blow in my face;

Away from the burden

And effort of prose,

I fly to the land

Of poetry;

The sun is more golden,

The air is more blue,

Green is more green,

Fragrance more fragrant!


There by the cornfields,

Swelling with sap,

The aloe rises up

With stubborn strength!

Olive tree, cypress,

White and brown,

Do you not greet us

Like gracious women?

What gleams in the foliage,

Sparkling like gold?

Is it you, orange-tree,

So charmingly concealed!


Defiant Neptune,

Was it you

Joking and murmuring

So sweetly below?

What seemed half-meadow

And half-heaven above,

Was really the ocean’s

Awesome horror?

Here, divine one,

Is where I would live!

Can you, Parthenope,

Quieten waves?

Then try,

O Eden of delight,

To quieten the panting

Of this breast!

(c) Andrej Grilc-06112.jpg
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