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BELLMAN, Carl Michael

Epistle n° 36

Our Ulla lay one morning and slept,

A hand beneath her ear;

Her key alone the taverner kept

Or through its hole might peer.

Outside in the tavern, sir,

All was nocturnally quiet;

Beer was none, nor, I'll aver,

Scarce water to supply it.

On tip-toes

He comes and goes

About her bedside, brothers;

Lifts a bit

Of coverlet,

And whispers with the others.

Ulla quivers,

Snores and shivers,

O'er her head the blanket piles;

Snuggles under,

With a thunder;

Turns about and smiles.

Epistle No. 39

Storm and wave their tumult cease.

See, the heav'nly galaxies,

Fainter, even dimmer

Is their golden glimmer

As the morning

Softly dawning

Of the sun's wan ray gives warning.

Asp and maple sighing,

Stream and marsh replying,

Woodcock buzzes,

Peasant passes

Round his filly's neck her harness.

Now in our stove

When it is lit,

Grasses and twigs

Crackle and spit,

Soon our porridge will be boiling.

Now with tousled brow

Cottager, I trow,

Seeks to light his pipe,

And out in the field

Leaning on a stone,

Dalesman lifts anew his spade.


Up, Amarylis! Darling, awaken!

Through the still bracken

Soft airs swell;

Iris, all dightly,

Vestured so brightly,

Coloreth lightly

Wood and dell.

Amaryllis, thy sweet name pronouncing,

Thee in Neptune's cool embrace announcing.

Slumber's god the while his sway renouncing,

O'er your eyes sighs, and speech yields his spell.

Now comes the fishing! The net we fasten;

This minute hasten!

Follow me!

Don your skirt and jacket

And veil, or you'll lack it;

Pike and trout wait a racket;

Sails flap free.

Waken, Amaryllis, darling, waken!

Let me not by thy smile be forsaken:

Then by dolphins and fair sirens overtaken,

In our gay boat we'll sport in company.

Come now, your rods, lines, and nets with you taking!

The day is breaking;

Hasten thee nigh!

Sweet little treasure,

Think ill in no measure;

For thee 'twere no pleasure

Me to deny.

Let us to the little shallows wander,

Or beside the inlet over yonder,

Where the pledge-knot made our fond love fonder,

O'er which Thyrsis erst was moved to sigh.

Step in the boat, then--both of us singing,

Love his wand swinging

Over our fate.

AEol is moving,

But though wild proving,

In your arms loving

Comfort doth wait.

Blest, on angry waves of ocean riding,

By thee clasped, vain 'twere this dear thought hiding:

Death shall find me in thy pathway biding.

Sirens, sing ye, and my voice imitate!