The Alder King
translated by James M. Kopf
Who rides late in a night so wild?
It is the father with his child.
He has the boy wholly in arm,
He tucks him tight, he keeps him warm.
“My son, why hide your face?”
“Don’t you see, father, the Alder King in this place?
The Alder King with crown and cloak?”
“My son, it’s fog, like a wisp of smoke.”
“You, lovely child, come along with me,
We’ll play some games all fancy free;
So many colorful flowers by the brook,
My mother’s sewing you some golden cloth. Look!”
“My father, my father, can you not hear
What the Alder King whispers in my ear?”
“Calm, my son, be calm and still,
The wind’s crying through the trees like a whippoorwill.”
“You, fine boy, don’t you want to come?
My daughters they will serve you – and then some;
My daughters will dance the night song
And soon, with their lullaby, sleep comes along.”
“My father, my father, right over there,
The Alder King’s daughters in his grey lair?”
“My son, my son, of course I see,
The shadow of an old willow tree.”
“I love you, dear boy, you are so fair,
But if you’re not willing, no effort will I spare.”
“My father, my father, he’s pulling me t’wards him!
The Alder King has done me something grim!”
The father rides like the wind in fear,
Clutching the son he holds so dear,
And arrives home full of struggle and dread;
In his arms, the child was dead.
The Camo Pulpit 