From the city’s ceaseless bustle To the wood for peace he flies. Merrily the leaves there rustle, Merrier still the bird’s songs rise.
But the merry song soon ceases, Sadly rustle leaf and tree, When he, while his grief increases, Nears the forest mournfully.
At sad slow pace across the vale There rode a horseman brave: “Ah! travel I now to my mistress’s arms, Or but to the darksome grave?” The echo answer gave: “The darksome grave!”
And farther rode the horseman on, With sighs his thoughts express’d: “If I thus early must go to my grave, Yet in the grave is rest.” The answering voice confess’d: “The grave is rest!”
Adown the horseman’s furrow’d cheek A tear fell on his breast: “If rest I can only find in the grave, For me the grave is best.” The hollow voice confess’d: “The grave is best!”
On the mountain summit darkling Lies the castle, veil’d in night; Lights are in the valley sparkling, Clashing swords are gleaming bright.
Brothers ’tis, who in fierce duel Fight, with wrath to fury fann’d; Tell me why these brothers cruel Strive thus madly, sword in hand?
By the eyes of Countess Laura Were they thus in strife array’d; Both with glowing love adore her,-- Her, the noble, beauteous maid.
Unto which now of the brothers Is her heart the most inclined? She her secret feelings smothers,-- Out, then, sword, the truth to find!
And they fight with rage despairing, Blows exchange with savage might; Take good heed, ye gallants daring,-- Mischief walks abroad by night.
Woe, O woe, ye brothers cruel! Woe, O woe, thou vale abhorr’d! Both fall victims in the duel, Falling on each other’s sword.
Races are to dust converted, Many centuries have flown, And the castle, now deserted, Sadly from the mount looks down.
But at night-time in the valley Wondrous forms appear again; At the stroke of twelve, forth sally To the fight the brothers twain.
While Hans and Grettel are dancing with glee, And each of them loudly rejoices, Poor Peter looks as pale as can be, And perfectly mute his voice is.
While Hans and Grettel are bridegroom and bride, And glitter in smart ostentation, Poor Peter must still in his working dress bide, And bites his nails with vexation.
Then softly Peter said to himself, As he gazed on the couple sadly: “Ah, had I not been such a sensible elf, It had fared with my life but badly!”