What every schoolboy knew

[Baira]

Back in the late Fifties and early Sixties, when I was in elementary school and in the early years of high school, one had to learn poems by earth. One of the poems that every schoolboy faced was the Italian translation of 'Das Grab im Busento' (the grave in the Busento River), by August von Platen. 

There was no way out, either in 3rd or in 7th grade, when studying the fall of the Roman empire, one had to learn it by earth in the Italian translation of one of our greatest poets of 19th century.

The poem tells how king Alaric, who died of fever near the city of Cosenza soon after the sack of Rome, was buried in the Busento river with his treasures.

A translation into Gothic would be interesting but I cannot absolutely do it because my knowledge of the language is too poor, but I wonder if some members of our group find the poem stimulating enough to translate it.

In any case here is the poem, both in German and in two different English translations.

                Das Grab im Busento
Nächtlich am Busento lispeln bei Cosenza dumpfe Lieder 
Aus den Wassern schallt es Antwort, und in Wirbeln klingt es wider! 

Und den Fluß hinauf, hinunter ziehn die Schatten tapfrer Goten, 
Die den Alarich beweinen, ihres Volkes besten Toten.

Allzufrüh und fern der Heimat mußten hier sie ihn begraben, 
Während noch die Jugendlocken seine Schulter blond umbaben. 

Und am Ufer des Busento reihten sie sich um die Wette,
Um die Ströhmung abzuleiten, gruben sie ein frisches Bette 

In der wogenleeren Höhlung wühlten sie empor die Erde,
Senkten tief heinein den Leichnam mit der Rüstung auf dem Pferde;

Deckten dann mit Erde wieder ihn und seine stolze Habe,
Daß die hohen Stromgewächse wüchsen aus dem Heldengrabe. 

Abegelenkt zum zweiten Male, ward der Fluß herbeigezogen,
Mächtig in ihr altes Bette schäumten die Busentowogen.

Und es sang ein Chor von Männern: «Schlaf in deinen Heldenehren!
Keines Römers schnöde Habsucht Soll dir je dein Grab versehren!»

Sangen's, und die Lobgesänge  tönten fort im Gotenheere; 
Wälze sie, Busentowelle, wälze sie von Meer zu Meere!

               The Grave in the Busento 1
At Cosenza nightly lisping, from Busento muted songs,
Answer echoing from the waters with its trills each note prolongs.

Each way, up and down the river valiant Goths their shadows cast,
Grieving o'er their leader Alaric, now in death still unsurpassed.

All too soon and far from home would he be laid to final rest
With his shoulders, face and neck by locks of youth still blond, caressed. 

And along Busento's banks feverishly in turns they raced 
To divert the river's current; a new riverbed they traced.

In the hollow, fully drained a still deeper bed they forced; 
Lowered deep into this trench the dead warrior, armed and horsed;

Then again with earth they covered him with his possessions brave,
That the tall grass from the river grow out from the hero's grave. 

For a second time diverted to restore the river's home, 
With full force in their old bed Busento's billows sprayed their foam. 

And a choir of men were singing, "Sleep an honored hero's slumber!
Never shall vile Roman greed your final resting place encumber!" 

This they sang; the hymns of praise resounded from the Gothic host;
Speed them on, Busento billows, speed them on from coast to coast!

Translation by Walter Meyer, found at http://www.recmusic.org/lieder/get_text.html?TextId=58328



                 The Grave in the Busento 2
By Cosenza, songs of wail at midnight wake Busento's shore, 
O'er the wave resounds the answer, and amid the vortex' roar! 

Valiant Goths, like spectres, steal along the banks with hurried pace, 
Weeping o'er Alaric dead, the best, the bravest of his race. 

Ah ! too soon, from home so far, was it their lot to dig his grave, 
While still o'er his shoulders flowed his youthful ringlets' flaxen wave. 

On the shore of the Busento ranged, they with each other vied, 
As they dug another bed to turn the torrent's course aside. 

In the waveless hollow turning o'er and o'er the sod, the corse 
Deep into the earth they sank, in armour clad, upon his horse

Covered then with earth again the horse and rider in the grave, 
That above the hero's tomb the torrent's lofty plants might wave. 

And, a second time diverted, was the flood conducted back, 
Foaming rushed Busento's billows onwards in their wonted track. 

And a warrior chorus sang, " Sleep with thy honours, hero brave ! 
"Ne'er shall foot of lucre-lusting Roman desecrate thy grave ! " 

Far and wide the songs of praise resounded in the Gothic host; 
Bear them on, Busento's billow, bear them on from coast to coast!
 
Translation by Alfred Baskerville found at http://www.archive.org/stream/poetryofgermanyc00baskrich/poetryofgermanyc00baskrich_djvu.txt


How do you like it?

Baira
  

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