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Sarah Kirsch

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Erlking

Who rides so late through the night so wild?
A father with his only child.
He carries the boy in the crook of his arm;
He holds him safe, he keeps him warm.

Why, son, do you hide your face in fear? –
Look, father, can’t you see him there?
The Erlking with his crown and cloak? –
My son, that’s only fog or smoke.

“O sweetest child, come live with me!
We’ll play together happily.
Look where bright flowers on the beach invite you!
And my mother has golden clothes to delight you.”

O father, can’t you hear the hiss
When the Erlking whispers his promises? –
Hush, hush now, child: it’s only the sighing
Of the wind where the leaves are dry and dying.

“Won’t you take, my dainty boy, this chance?
My daughters lead our nightly dance:
They’ll love and nurse you if you weep
And rock and dance and sing you to sleep.”

O father, father, can’t you see
His daughters under that gloomy tree? –
My child, my child, as clear as day
It’s only the willows that look so grey.

“I love you, I can’t wait to take you;
If you won’t come willingly, I’ll make you!”
O father, he’s taking hold of me!
The Erlking’s hands are hurting me. –

The exhausted father races on;
He holds in his arms his moaning son.
He reaches home in horror and dread:
The child he holds in his arms is dead.

Translated by W. D. Jackson

Page(s) 64-65

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