Garmarna - Sorgsen ton (Woeful tone) | Текст песни

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• Garmarna
• Sorgsen ton (Woeful tone)

In woeful tones I mean to tell
A tale of dread and wonder
Whoever hears it, listen well,
And on its meaning ponder.
In Gibbau, by the Penne sea,
In Pomerania, in Germany,
These strange events unfolded.

A farmer lived in poverty there
Whose children were so many
That he was driven in despair
To beg for food and money.
The eldest daughter bade adieu
To sisters, brothers and parents too,
To earn a servant's wages.

Some time later her father's soul
This earthly life departed.
Her mother, who was lame and old,
By stick and crutch supported,
Upon her wealthy daughter called
For help with the father's funeral,
As is a daughter's duty.

"Why come to me?" the daughter said
"Give him a pauper's burial!
I'll waste no money on the dead,
Nor let my mind be troubled.
Everyone sees the clothes I wear,
But what does anybody care
What grave the old man lies in?"

Such words of cruelty dismayed
Her nobler-hearted mistress.
She sent both money and food to aid
The family in her kindness.
The mistress gave two new-baked loaves
And bade the daughter carry those
Home to her needy mother.

When she had gone a little way,
Carrying the bread in anger,
Despising her mistress's charity
And cursing her starving mother,
She came to a mud patch damp and deep
- And this is what she did to keep
Her fine new shoes unsullied:

No stone nor plank nor bridge was there
To help her on her journey.
To leave her path she did not care
- That way was long and dirty.
The loaves of bread she threw straight down
As stepping-stones to drier ground
But this she soon regretted.

Her feet stuck fast immediately
When on the bread they landed.
In vain she tried to pull them free,
She cursed and swore and ranted.
For like a stone stuck in the ground
Her legs sank helpless deeper down
- She could not even move them.

She cries aloud,
"Alas that I spurned
The pleas of my kind old mother!
This is the punishment I`ve earned,
A wretched, sinful daughter!"
Each passer-by for help she begs,
But none can free her earthbound legs
However hard they struggle.

She had not spoken her last words
In a voice trembling with terror
Before the ground she stood on stirred
And opened wide beneath her.
In silent prayer her hands she clasped
And sank until the earth at last
All trace of her had covered.

All you who hear this tale, take care,
Lest your own pride betray you.
Remember likewise to beware
The tricks that greed can play you.
Let this maid's fate warn everyone
The sin of luxury to shun
And vain, conceited living.

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