“GREEN grow the budding blackberry hedges; | |
| What joy! a violet meets my quest; | |
| The blackbird seeks the last year’s sedges, | |
| The merry chaffinch builds her nest; | |
| The snow has from each vale receded, | 5 |
| It only clothes the mountain’s brow. | |
| I from my home have stolen unheeded; | |
| This is the place; I ’ll venture now: | |
| Rübezahl. | |
| |
| “Hears he my call? I ’ll boldly face him: | 10 |
| He is not bad. Upon this stone | |
| My pack of linen I will place him; | |
| It is a right good, heavy one, | |
| And fine: yes, I ’ll uphold it ever, | |
| I’ th’ dale no better ’s wove at all. | 15 |
| He shows himself to mortal never; | |
| So courage, heart! once more I call: | |
| Rübezahl! | |
| |
| “No sound! Adown the wood I hasted, | |
| That he might help us, hard bestead. | 20 |
| My mother’s face, so wan and wasted; | |
| Within the house no crumb of bread. | |
| To market, cursing, went my father; | |
| Might he but there a buyer meet! | |
| With Rübezahl I ’ll venture rather; | 25 |
| Him for the third time I entreat: | |
| Rübezahl! | |
| |
| “For he so kindly helped a many, | |
| My grandmother oft to me has told; | |
| Yes, gave poor folks a good luck-penny, | 30 |
| Whose woe was undeserved, of old. | |
| So here I am: my heart beats lightly, | |
| My goods are justly measured all, | |
| I will not beg, will sell uprightly. | |
| O that he would come! Rübezahl! | 35 |
| Rübezahl! | |
| |
| “Suppose these goods should suit his taste, | |
| And he should order more to come: | |
| We could his wish fulfil with haste, | |
| We ’ve plenty more as fine at home. | 40 |
| Suppose he took them, every piece; | |
| Ah! would his choice on them might fall! | |
| What ’s pawned I would myself release: | |
| That would be glorious! Rübezahl! | |
| Rübezahl! | 45 |
| |
| “I ’d enter then our small room gayly, | |
| And cry, ‘Here, father, ’s gold in store!’ | |
| He would not curse; that he wove daily | |
| A hunger-web, would say no more. | |
| Then, then again would smile my mother | 50 |
| And serve a plenteous meal to all; | |
| Then would rejoice each little brother— | |
| O that he would come! Rübezahl! | |
| Rübezahl!” | |
| |
| Thus spake the little weaver lonely, | 55 |
| Thus stood and cried he, weak and pale. | |
| In vain; the casual raven only | |
| Flew o’er the old gnome-haunted dale. | |
| Thus stood he while the hours passed slowly, | |
| Till the night-shadows dimmed the glen, | 60 |
| And with white quivering lips said lowly, | |
| Amid his tears, yet once again, | |
| “Rübezahl!” | |
| |
| Then softly from the greenwood turning, | |
| He trembled, sighed, took up his pack, | 65 |
| And to the unassuagéd mourning | |
| Of his poor home went slowly back. | |
| Oft paused he by the way, heart-aching, | |
| Feeble, and by his burden bowed. | |
| Methinks the famished father ’s making | 70 |
| For that poor youth, even now, a shroud. | |
| Rübezahl! | |
| |
