Erlkönig (ballad)

Erlkönig is a ballad by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. He wrote it in 1782. Today, it is among his best-known works.

The work has been set into music many times. Probably the most well-known setting is that by Franz Schubert.

Name[change | change source]

Originally, the work was Danish, called Ellerkonge, which means Elf-king. Johann Gottfried Herder translated it into German. The name Erlkönig came from the fact that elle was translated as Erle.(a tree, called alder, in English). In Danish, elle can mean both alder, and elf.

The legend[change | change source]

The story of the Erlkönig derives from the traditional Danish ballad Elveskud: Goethe's poem was inspired by Johann Gottfried Herder's translation of a variant of the ballad (Danmarks gamle Folkeviser 47B, from Peter Syv's 1695 edition) into German as Erlkönigs Tochter ("The Erl-King's Daughter") in his collection of folk songs, Stimmen der Völker in Liedern (published 1778). Goethe's poem then took on a life of its own, inspiring the Romantic concept of the Erlking. Niels Gade's cantata Elverskud, Op. 30 (1854, text by Chr. K. F. Molbech [da]) was published in translation as Erlkönigs Tochter.

Summary[change | change source]

An anxious young boy is being carried at night by his father on horseback. To where is not spelled out; German Hof has a rather broad meaning of "yard", "courtyard", "farm", or (royal) "court". The opening line tells that the time is late and that it is windy.

As the poem unfolds, the son claims to see and hear the "Erlkönig" (Erl-King). His father claims to not see or hear the creature, and he attempts to comfort his son, asserting natural explanations for what the child sees – a wisp of fog, rustling leaves, shimmering willows.

The Erl-King attempts to lure the child into joining him, promising amusement, rich clothes, and the attentions of his daughters. Finally, the Erl-King declares that he will take the child by force. The boy shrieks that he has been attacked, spurring the father to ride faster to the Hof. Upon reaching the destination, the child is already dead.

Text[change | change source]

	Literal translation	Edgar Alfred Bowring's translation^[1]
Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind? Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind; Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm, Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm. Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht? Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht? Den Erlenkönig mit Kron' und Schweif? Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif. "Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir! Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir; Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand, Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand." Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht, Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht? Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind; In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind. "Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn? Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön; Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn, Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein." Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort? Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh' es genau: Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau. "Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt; Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch' ich Gewalt." Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an! Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan! Dem Vater grauset's; er reitet geschwind, Er hält in den Armen das ächzende Kind, Erreicht den Hof mit Mühe und Not; In seinen Armen, das Kind war tot.	Who rides, so late, through night and wind? It is the father with his child. He has the boy well in his arm, He holds him safely, he keeps him warm. My son, why do you hide your face in fear? Father, do you not see the Erl-King? The Erl-King with crown and cape? My son, it is a streak of fog. "You dear child, come, go with me! (Very) beautiful games, I play with you; Many colourful flowers are on the beach, My mother has many a golden robe." My father, my father, and do you not hear What the Erl-King quietly promises me? Be calm, stay calm, my child; Through dry leaves, the wind is sighing. "Do you, fine boy, want to go with me? My daughters shall wait on you finely; My daughters lead the nightly dance, And rock and dance and sing to bring you in." My father, my father, and don't you see there The Erl-King's daughters in the gloomy place? My son, my son, I see it clearly: There shimmer the old willows so grey. "I love you, your beautiful form excites me; And if you're not willing, then I will use force." My father, my father, he's touching me now! The Erl-King has done me harm! It horrifies the father; he swiftly rides on, He holds the moaning child in his arms, Reaches the farm with great difficulty; In his arms, the child was dead.	Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear? The father it is, with his infant so dear; He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm, He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm. My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide? Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side! Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train? My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain. "Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me! For many a game, I will play there with thee; On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold, My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold." My father, my father, and dost thou not hear The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear? Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives; 'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves. "Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there? My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care; My daughters by night their glad festival keep, They'll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep." My father, my father, and dost thou not see, How the Erl-King his daughters has brought here for me? My darling, my darling, I see it aright, 'Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight. "I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy! And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ." My father, my father, he seizes me fast, For sorely, the Erl-King has hurt me at last. The father now gallops, with terror half wild, He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child; He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread, The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.