2019.03.24.
King Eric
Flying pennants, boats gliding on water,sunset paints Lake Mälaren,
an oar splashing, a horn reaches
the fragrant banks with its echo.
May the oar sink and the barque be free,
float with no destination for this beautiful night!
May the horn rest, may the echo stand still, too:
Eric is now playing the kantele.
Eric plays, the most slender kantele made of cedar
lies on his embroidered knee,
with golden strings and supple, white fingers
he creates a gentle wave of notes.
Little Karin listens to it quietly
and a grand tear conquers her eyes.
Did I make my shepherdess sad?
Eric is now playing the kantele.
The little boat glides on the lake,
the surface of water reflects the clouds,
Kaarina is overtaken by grief,
the images shatter at the lake's mirror.
The Moon creates a crown from its rays for you,
the stars reflect in it as diamonds.
Under the star sky of a Finnish summer night
Eric is now playing the kantele.
Little Karin, allow me to bring you
to Stockholm as a queen of the castle,
just tell me and I will create a golden crown
on top of your golden curls.
Eric is the prince of dreams,
he has a moon-given crown on his head.
Calm down, my child, so the crown will be yours.
Eric is now playing the kantele.