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Translated by C. T. Brooks
NOW is the flax so fair and long: | |
| Ho! ho! ho! | |
| And now the poor man’s heart is strong, | |
| And now ascends his swelling song, | |
| The grateful heart’s o’erflow. | 5 |
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| What torments must the flax endure! | |
| Ho! ho! ho! | |
| They ’ll dig a pond, and heave it in, | |
| Then beat and bruise it short and thin; | |
| Hallo! hallo! hallo! | 10 |
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| The flayer, he will break the straw, | |
| Rack! rack! rack! | |
| The gleaner, he will scrape and glean, | |
| Till not a single sheaf is seen, | |
| Then throw it on the pack. | 15 |
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| The hatcheler then must make it fine, | |
| Hash! hash! hash! | |
| He draws it out so fine and fair— | |
| He forms the woof with speed and care, | |
| And lays it on the rash. | 20 |
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| And then, when winter comes along, | |
| Groll! groll! groll! | |
| The woofs are set, and man and wife, | |
| They spin, as if they spun for life, | |
| They spin full many a roll. | 25 |
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| And now the bride will be so gay, | |
| Ho! ho! ho! | |
| She ’ll spin by night, she ’ll spin by day; | |
| Her bridal dress she ’ll spin away, | |
| Fine as her hair, I know. | 30 |
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| Hurrah! hurrah! the flax is good! | |
| Ho! ho! ho! | |
| Who does his duty daily, he | |
| Must always bright and happy be, | |
| Whether in weal or woe. | 35 |
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| The flax rewards our cheerful toil; | |
| Ho! ho! ho! | |
| And many a mighty prince’s son | |
| Who wears the linen we have spun, | |
| Our joy may never know. | 40 |
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