Lyrics to Schultz CD 3

The Village Spring:
Harald H. Lund

Now the catkins ring, now the birch trees bloom,
and spring mosses on the village church,
and spring knocks on the barn doors,
which smell of tar and shine black.

Two wooden clogs with straw in the bottom,
A little girl with a smile on her face,
And the farm’s firewood stacked in a cube,
seven sun signals from the starling’s throat.

But towards evening
the countryside turns blue,
as the day loses its trail in the rain.

Four choral songs with lyrics by Thøger Larsen
1 The Green Spring

The green spring with sunshine in mind
has come to us on southern winds.
From the meadow, a wide fragrance breathes
in the youthful season of blooming flowers.

The soil that the earth now reclaims
is hidden by cheerful, coquettish colors.
Around delicate flowers,
butterflies carelessly flutter on fine wings.

My heart greets
the spring so pure
with yes and Amen
and blessed be

On green fields your foot shall tread,
you fresh, fair, my heart’s delight,
you, my heart’s delight!

2 Summer Morning

The soil, far and near, was baptized in the night’s dew,
and the sky rested high and clear, wrapped in cool colors;
it rested like a dreamer’s mind,
that awakens more and more,
that yearns, yearns for the light
and senses it before it sees.

A birdsong glided over hill and dale but was soon broken
by the cuckoo’s call and the rooster’s crow, heralding deep and clear
the anticipated morning spring
beyond the horizon’s edge,
a day for open eyes, for open eyes’ desire for open land.

While the eastern ether dreamed silently in colored robes,
and night slipped westward to the sea, as a faint shadow of the sky,
the dream grew warm in the deep northeast,
driving redness under the clouds;
from this young redness
sprang forth the golden dawn.

3 Autumn Storm

Now the storm sweeps in from the sea, making the shore gnash its teeth.
With darkness mixed into its light, the October day burns.
Now the leaves are swept away from the land, and hellishly harsh is the song,
the fjord is black at heart, but the sky has gone barren.
It’s over with cuckoo weather and birds’ chatter in the branches,
and girls’ games behind beech trees.
Now one freezes alone.

Now the storm sweeps in from the sea, making the shore gnash its teeth.
With darkness mixed into its light, the October day burns.
Branches snap in the forest and thicket, and the sun fades low,
and the storm howls through the night
and sharpens all the stars.

4 At the Spring Equinox

Winter erases the traces of life,
Snow, snow!
Spring sleeps in the black earth,
Woe, woe!
The waters freeze, the winds howl,
ice over waters, ice on windows!
The stars shine from heaven’s gates
far, far away
beyond the abyss, dark and deep.

Spring sleeps in the black soil,
Seeds, seeds!
The sun approaches with joy,
Thaw, thaw!
Comes with the birds of the South in tow,
loosens the bonds of brook and wave,
awakens nature’s eternal longings,
the hinges of the underworld, creak for life’s closed prisons.

The chilly sprout peeks from the field:
Try, try!
Fearful buds break from the bark,
Leaves, leaves!
Spring dawns, dreaming in slumber
along ditches and damp valleys.
The clouds gently sail over the lakes, reflecting colors,
wrapped in hues like a bride for her suitor.

Spring sends from winter’s abode
Shivers, shivers!
Demands in smoldering, half-blind faith
Light, light!
Oh, it won’t be long now,
the streams gurgle in ditches and meadows,
hasten with the message far and wide gladly and eagerly:
The sun is coming, the star of resurrection.

May Night’s Mischief
Simon Schultz

Hear the cuckoo man’s “cuckoo, cuckoo”
Hear the sweet girls’ sighs,
Little Cupids small Walk around the forest.

Hear the nightingale’s “djuk, djuk”
Hear the sweet love sighs,
The Aeolian harp’s sound,
Over forest and field.

Hear the brook’s gurgle,
No, it’s Puk of the forest,
Now watch out, you two,
You will find no rest,
Eros is near, Guard your beloved.

Eros is dangerously near,
You will find no rest.
Hear the nightingale’s “djuk,”
Hear the sweet girls’ sighs,
Hear the cuckoo man’s “cuckoo, cuckoo.”
Hear the nightingale’s “djuk,”
Small cupids walk around the forest.
Hear the nightingale’s “jug.”

5 Madrigals
1 Northern Lights
Svend S. Schultz

In the deep black silence of the northern night sky,
suddenly, like a scream of fire,
a sparkling shower of sparks bursts forth,
unfolding a magical tapestry of radiant beauty and wildness,
a beacon for the young in love,
dizzyingly high,
the endless remoteness of the North Star flames,
the icy vision of light, white and purplish-red, shining blue-white
in a rippling dance of trembling fields,
stronger, closer until it suddenly like a magic word, is abruptly extinguished and dies,
a beacon for those who love.

2 I am Eve
Svend S. Schultz

I am Eve, or Frau Musica
and my desire is you, Adam!
When I see you, I become as banal as all sweet music.
Press yourself to my heart,
listen if you can still hear more,
speak to me if you can still make yourself understood,
what I want to know, what I want you to say,
are eternally old phrases,
old, vieille, but said anew,
a little differently, and yet.
If you succeed, you know you do not live in vain,
If you do not succeed:
I am still Eve, but you are not Adam

3 Happiness
Grethe Heltberg

And it was I who dreamed
that happiness was a foam-white horse,
that burst forth with gaping mouth,
and mane flowing in the wind,
a reckless, death-defying ride,
a wild fanfare, resounding,
a cry of fall and festivity.

And it is I who sit here
and know that happiness is simply peace,
the deep peace
when the storm was silent,
while life quietly began to grow,
that happiness is an eternal source
of togetherness in sorrow and joy
that flows between two.

4 Rain in the Roses
Svend S. Schultz

A drop falls, another, and yet another,
It is the first rain on the first roses.
Trembling, they stand completely numbed by the cold,
but soon their colors will shine,
and even more beautifully, they will spread their fragrance.
These are the first tears over our love.

5 Lovely Sun
Svend S. Schultz

Lovely sun,
kiss the tears from my cheek,
Lovely sun,
kiss the sorrows from my mind so bleak,

Fluttering breeze,
cool my brow with your tender air,
Fluttering breeze,
bring freshness from lands elsewhere.

Lovely life,
blend sorrows with joys aglow,
I thank you for all,
the bitter as well as the sweet you bestow,
Lovely life.

The Morning Cock Crowed Again
N.F.S. Grundtvig

Once again the morning cock crowed
with dew-lit wing,
fortune with the golden sun
light and joy will bring,
when we thank him in reward,
above all suns shining bright,
who makes the morning dawn so fair,
blessing life’s school with light!

Day He made for deeds and toil,
twilight for our rest,
none has measured life’s frail thread,
so let us strive our best:
to do good while day is long,
test our strength with care,
knowing well that blessings come
to those who dare and bear!

Words in mouth and books in hand
shall our youth instill:
how to wield both strength and tongue,
living by God’s will;
then our manhood, wise and strong,
true to its proud name,
shall crown the youthful work of school,
proving it brought gain!

Two Summer Songs

1 Storm at the summer house
Harald Herdal

A dark blue sea with waves of white foam
rose high and wild, roaring with a bull’s fierce groan,
while storm and tempest tore the star-heavy dome.

It was a night when storm and sea and gust,
angry gust and wild fury clashed around our trust,
and there was seaweed, salt scent in the spray’s sharp thrust.

It felt like death and shipwreck near,
a grave for man, and mouse, and ship’s dear,
in the wrathful blackened sea.

Then slowly, late at night, the storm grew calm and ceased.
A tempest night was done,
a golden day began with cleansed sky,
and waves worn down and tired,
and with yet another sun-kissed, gentle warmth,
the sea lay sunlit, full of hope,
lapping idyllic like stream water by a pier,
as if the gods of weather laughed, in silence, clear.

2 The Thunderstorm
Thøger Larsen

Heat ripples over the crest of the hills
and the secure, slumbering realms of grain.
Like blessed, salty gazes, lakes and stills
are drunk with blue from sun and naked dames.

All lives in a tender, lush suspense,
hidden juices fuel the urge for joy.
And waves of mist sway, without resistance,
toward strange shores no one can ever ploy.
The mayfly senses, near a blue violet’s glow,
the eternal. And across the fields so fully,
drifts the rich ripening scent of grain below
and sun’s fierce burn,
and thunderclouds’ wild laugh rings deeply, surely.

See open doors in shadow across each parish,
as if each home’s grave yawns its dark,
as though all dead now wait to rise and cherish
the honest day upon the hill’s green arc.
The sun now drowns. And with harsh crests,
the storm’s wild waters rise like flint and caves;
a solemnity falls over lakes and rests,
and behind a mountain of rain,
and behind a mountain of rain, lightning raves.

From her bath, the farmer’s white-skinned daughter
emerges—the dear waters she has loathed to leave.
She lifts her breasts and laughs to the skies that caught her,
as thunder rain pours down with fierce reprieve.
The cow bellows, as if from the Earth’s deep core!
The elder blossoms sweetly, as though its roots,
rain-soaked, remember some happiness long before.
And lustfully the lightning strikes,
and lustfully the lightning strikes the Earth with force.

New Year
Eyvind Falk-Rønne

Now in the night, the new year is born,
through the darkness a tone is torn,
of anguish and painful woe.
Anxiety trembles in the sound’s wake,
the unknown must happen, no escape,
the future visits our earthly glow!

What do you bring us, O new year,
born tonight beneath the sky’s vault?
We fear you, unknown, yet fear most of all
the forces within our own deepest fault.

Do you hear, you who believe hope is lost?
A bright, shining tone is ringing,
a slender, budding sound in the dark night frost.
It will grow and rise,
it will swell and laugh
and burst in jubilant delight.
Once more, the miracle shall be,
one day we’ll witness blooming’s mystery.

Deep in the darkness, a light spark hides,
like the seed within the shell.
That knowledge often betrayed,
but never truly forgotten or denied,
that deep within the human soul lies a striving
toward lofty goals that compel.

What do you bring us, O new year,
born tonight beneath the sky’s vault?
We fear you, unknown,
yet fear most of all
the forces within our own deepest fault.

Fear not, in all that lives and grows,
a yearning in the darkest depths shows,
a longing for light and for life.
Now the earth trembles in darkness and fear,
but mighty is the power of light.
When every anxious soul believes
humbly in the pact of all life’s victorious might.

See, a trembling light through the darkness gleams,
now in the night, the new year is born in dreams.

Weekend
Ulf Hoffmann

Stop now, comrades, pack away!
Board the first express today!
Before the midnight hour rings,
we’ll fall silent about the hearth,
entranced by its flame,
both murderous and tame.
We shall go and lie fallow,
in a cloud of tobacco,
lulled by the waves’ hum
in the night’s deep drum.

At dawn, we’ll head out to the shore
to see the green sea’s restless roar,
to search for the stranded rum,
glowing like amber’s sun.
Oh, but amber and old rum
roll heavy in the ocean’s tum!
Waves heave long and grey,
gulls drift into the blue’s sway,
half a tone, half a scent
in water and air, both spent.

Leave the coolness of the thorny brush,
enter the pine forest’s hush!
Down the blackened night trunks,
honey-gold resin runs.
Pale, so pale is the morning’s glow.
Oh, that silence, soft and slow!
But when midday’s glowing heat
pierces dense and sweet,
it’s like a fine liqueur,
that makes us blur.

We shall hear the lapwings cry
in the raw and wind-whipped sky,
while a moon-colored dark
flows toward us, softly stark.
Peel a juicy orange clean
by the roaring fire’s sheen!
To the house, we raise a toast!
And thanks for all—
forest, beach, sun, and salt—
and the old barrel of rum,
that never did come!