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| Traduzione inglese 2 / English translation 2 / Traduction anglaise... |
| THE HOUSE-GOBLIN | ROBIN GOODFELLOW |
| | |
| Cold is the night, and still, and strange, | Midwinter's nightly frost is hard - |
| Stars they glitter and shimmer. | Brightly the stars are beaming; |
| All are asleep in the lonely grange | Fast asleep is the lonely Yard, |
| Under the midnight's glimmer. | All, at midnight, are dreaming. |
| On glides the moon in gulfs profound; | Clear is the moon, and the snow-drifts shine, |
| Snow on the firs and pines around. | Glistening white, on fir and pine, |
| Snow on the roofs is gleaming. | Covers on rooflets making. |
| All but the goblin are dreaming. | None but Robin is waking. |
| | |
| Gray he stands at the barnyard door, | Grey, he stands by the byre-door, |
| Gray by the drifts of white there, | Grey, in the snow appearing; |
| Looks, as oft he has looked before, | Looks, as ever he did before, |
| Up at the moon so bright there; | Up, at the moonlight peering; |
| Looks at the woods, where the fir-trees tall | Looks at the wood, where the pine and fir |
| Shut the grange in with their dusky wall; | Stand round the farm, and never stir; |
| Ponders —some problem vexes, | Broods on an unavailing |
| Some strange riddle perplexes — | Riddle, forever failing; |
| | |
| Passes his hand o'er beard and hair, | Runs his hand through his hair and beard - |
| Shaking his head and cap then: | Gravely, his head a-shaking - |
| "Nay, that riddle's too hard, I swear, | »Harder riddle I never heard, |
| I'll ne'er guess it mayhap then." | Vainly, my head I'm breaking.» - |
| But, as his wont is, he soon drives out | Chasing, then, as his wont for aye, |
| All such thoughts of disturbing doubt. | Such unsolvable things away, |
| Frees his old head of dizziness. | Robin trips, without hustling, |
| And turns him at once to business. | Now, about duty bustling. |
| | |
| First he tries if the locks are tight. | Goes to the larder and tool-house fine, |
| Safe against every danger. | Every padlock trying - |
| Each cow dreams in the pale moonlight | See! by moonlight, in stalls, the kine, |
| Summer dreams by her manger. | Dreaming of summer, are lying; |
| Dobbin, forgetful of bits that gall. | Heedless of harness and whip and team, |
| Dreams like the cows in his well-filled stall, | Pollë, stabled, has, too, a dream: |
| Leaning his neck far over | Manger and crib, all over, |
| Armfuls of fragrant clover. | Fill with sweet-smelling clover. |
| | |
| Then through the bars he sees the sheep. | Robin goes to the lambs and sheep - |
| Watches how well they slumber. | See! they are all a-dreaming! |
| Eyes the cock on his perch asleep. | Goes to the hens, where the cock will sleep, |
| Round him hens without number. | Perched, with vanity teeming; |
| Carlo wakes at the goblin's tread, | Karo, in kennel, so brave and hale, |
| Wags then his tail and lifts his head; | Wakes up and gladly wags his tail; |
| Well acquainted the two are, | Karo, he knows his brother, |
| Friends that both tried and true are. | Watchman, they love each other. |
| | |
| Last the goblin slips in to see | Lastly, Robin will steal to see |
| How all the folk are faring. | The masterfolks, loved so dearly; |
| Long have they known how faithfully | Long have they liked his industry, |
| He for their weal is caring. | Now, they honour him, clearly; |
| Treading lightly on stealthy toes. | Stealing on tiptoe, soon he nears |
| Into the children's room he goes, | Nursery cots, the little dears; |
| Looks at each tiny treasure: | None must grudge him the pleasure; |
| That is his greatest pleasure. | This is his greatest treasure. |
| | |
| So has he seen them, sire and son, | Thus he has seen them, sire and son, |
| Year by year in that room there | Endless numbers of races; |
| Sleep first as children every one. | Whence are they coming, one by one, |
| Ah, but whence did they come there? | All the slumbering faces? |
| This generation to that was heir. | Mortals succeeding mortals, there, |
| Blossomed, grew old, and was gone - but where? | Flourished, and aged, and went - but where? |
| That is the hopeless, burning | Oh, this riddle, revolving, |
| Riddle ever returning. | He will never cease solving! |
| | |
| Back to the barn he goes to rest. | Robin goes to the hay-shed loft, |
| Where he has fixed his dwelling | There, is his haunt and hollow, |
| Up in the loft near the swallow's nest. | Deep in the sweet-smelling hay, aloft, |
| Sweet there the hay is smelling. | Near the nest of the swallow; |
| Empty the swallow's nest is now. | Empty, now, is the swallow's nest, |
| Back though he'll come when the grass and bough | But when spring is in blossom drest, |
| Bud in the warm spring weather, | She for home will be yearning, |
| He and his mate together. | Will, with her mate, be returning. |
| | |
| Always they twitter away about | Then she'll twitter, and sing, and chat |
| Places through which they've travelled, | Much of her airy travel, |
| Caring naught for the goblin's doubt. | Nothing, though, of the riddle that |
| Though it were ne'er unravelled. | Robin can never unravel. |
| Through a chink in one of the walls | Through a chink in the hay-shed wall, |
| Moonlight on the old goblin falls, | Lustrous moonbeams on Robin fall, |
| White o'er his beard it wanders; | There, on his beard, they're blinking, |
| Still he puzzles and ponders. | Robin’s brooding and thinking. |
| | |
| Forest and field are silent all, | Mute is the wold, is nature all, |
| Frost their whole life congealing. | Life is so frozen and dreary; |
| Save that the roar of the waterfall | From afar, but the rapids' call, |
| Faintly from far is stealing. | Murmuring, sounds so weary. |
| Then the goblin, half in a dream. | Robin listens, half in a dream, |
| Thinks it is Time's unpausing stream. | Fancies he hears the vital stream, |
| Wonders whither 't is going. | Wonders whither it's going, |
| And from what spring 't is flowing. | Whence its waters are flowing. |
| | |
| Cold is the night, and still, and strange. | Midwinter's nightly frost is hard - |
| Stars they glitter and shimmer. | Brightly the stars are beaming. |
| All yet sleep in the lonely grange | Fast asleep is the lonely Yard, |
| Soundly till morn shall glimmer. | All till morn will be dreaming. |
| Now sinks the moon in night profound; | Faint is the moon; and the snow-drifts shine, |
| Snow on the firs and pines around, | Glistening white on fir and pine, |
| Snow on the roofs is gleaming. | Covers on rooflets making. |
| All but the goblin are dreaming. | None but Robin is waking. |
