| Traduzione inglese 2 / English translation 2 / Traduction anglaise... |
THE HOUSE-GOBLIN | ROBIN GOODFELLOW |
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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. |
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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; |
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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. |
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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. |
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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. |
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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. |
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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! |
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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. |
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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. |
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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. |
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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. |