English translation of Epistel 81, by swedish 18th century songwriter Carl Michael Bellman. This is a funeral march for mrs Lövberg, the dear departed keeper of a tavern in Stockholm some 250 years ago.

See how our shadow see Movitz Mon Frere!
    joining the darkness  together
How gold and purple is showeled away,
    turn to rags and gravel
waving charon from his river farewell,
and threefold then the gravedigger himself,
   no longer can you resist her
therfore Movitz come raise with my help  
    tombstone over our sister.

* * *
Tolling small bell to the sound of big bell,
    cantor standing gatekeeper
and boys are chanting a prayer farewell
    sanctifying this garden.
through the temple of this city of graves
on yellow roses are fading away
    coffins and woodwork dissolving;
to our line of blackclothed shades
       with tears in reverence bowing

* * *
So is departed from parties and brawls,
    your spouse Löfberg brawlmaker
where grasses grow high over it all
     Starring back to  her faker.
she for Morguehouse departed today,
and took with her all the laughter away;
    bottles no longer obey her  .
thirsty was she and thirsty am I
    we are thirsty together.

Carl Michael Bellman Epistel 81 See how our Shadow ( english version)

English version of Fredmans Epistel no 43 by Swedish 18th century songwriter Carl Michael Bellman. The scene is preparations for a child birth in Stockholm some 250 years ago. The mother-to-be is Ulla Winblad, a true daughter of Venus.

warm more ale and bread
  Get mrs Wingmark pitcher 
   with cumin please, my sister, 
big pot heat up assist her 
     glow blazing red  
prepare now a bed,
with swan down, silken bedsheets
bedpan, cradle, a bell seat  
 run upstairs with very swift feet , 
    please hurry more
     now close the door ;
draw the curtains down quite slowly
Venus come now to support her
See the glory of your daughter
her feelings gently await for all your  help. 


Milk,mead Rhineland wine,
More ale cheese  now aquire!
more sugar ginger and fire,
all request her sweet desire.
     comfort her pain; 
Sing maiden a song,
Her anxious heart is burning
the blood inside her turning,
soon a lovely cool is yearning,
     two hearts respond 
     beauty what bond!
thousands deaths around you flying
even in your passion sighing,
must you feel a glimpse of dying 
the flower’s death foretold By the 
  worm within.

Carl Michael Bellman Epistel 43  - Warm More Ale and Bread ( english version)

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Cover of When the Ships Comes In by Bob Dylan

When the Ships Comes In ( Bob Dylan Cover)

English translation of Fredman Epistel no 23 Oh, You my Mother by Swedish 18th century songwriter Carl Michael Bellman.  This is about a drunkard contemplating his life.

 
Oh you my mother  who sent you over down to my fathers side	 
When you that  sparkle then first ignited
	Of my poor old life!
due to the fire
of your desire,
am I burdened with pain.
lying inviting,
trying inciting
 my blod burning in your vein.
you should have lock and seal/key
on your virginity.

Cursed be the timber, cursed be the chamber
	 	Made to your bridal bed!
Cursed be your eye twinkling, sign of maiden	 
	that my father misled!
cursed be the hour
when you lost power
and renounced good old faith!
cursed your desire
when you retired
and laid down in that bed!
or on a table laid
when my life was made.
when my life was made.
 
Truly my heart. Realy  i’m hating;
 	Cursed be the both of you!
Lying here  in the gutter contemplating
	My worn out shoes.
  lying down legs!
  coat all in rags 
Shirt is black like soot!
lying contemplating 
scarf, wig lambskin,
and my crooked foot.
itching all over me wont stop;
come and raise me up.
come and raise me up.

My skinny  hands have no more power
 	Shiver from pain and cold
See them hang down like dead dry flower,
	From my shoulders they fall.
eyes,skull all winded
skin bones are binded
like an old scarecrow.
tongue has no power
hailing the hour
sing the joy I know
pleasures of loving time ,
and a jug of wine.
and a jug of wine.
	 
 Sweeten my tongue heavenly juices
	 Spread glory in my blod.
I am a pagan, heart and tongue are praising
	 the wine is my god .
drunkard despected
my whistle wetted,
 the only wealth  I have.
theres no escaping,
fortune is waiting
  digging down  my own grave,
and at my very last
my mouth join that glass.
mouth join that glass.
	 
doors of the tavern are being unshuttered  ;
 	city still deep asleep.
Morn Stars are like put down by aurora
	down to bed of cloudy sheets;
sun rays are beaming,
church tower gleaming,
in its early morning gold.
footsteps are heeding
staircase is leading
me down to Bacchus hall .
Give me a drink I cry 
fore of thirst I die.
fore of thirst I die.

Cheers to you all, I am new shaped	 
 	Staggering  all around.
Old joins of mine  are being lubricated,
	My heart heavily pound  .
heavenly pleasure
 This is my treasure
  kiss the bottle hi ho!
I am courageous,
 jolly outrageous,
  and I fear no more.
all the drinks to be had.
thank you mom and dad.
thank you mom and dad.
	 
Drink to the woodwork, Drink for the bedsheets,
 	Where your bride she once laid
Drink to the man carpenting the bed
	Where I once I was made;
thanks for your power,
in the loving hour,
thanks you my old man;
if I could meet you,
so I would greet you,
get drunk  right away;
my brother yould would be
And as drunk as me.
and as drunk as me.

Fredman Epistel 23 . Oh, You my Mother ( English version)

English version of Fredmans Epistel no 82, Vila vid denna källa by Swedish 18 th century songwriter Carl Michael Bellman. This is Bellmans final masterpiece in Fredmans Epistlar, a picnic scenery in the outskirts of Stockholm, bidding a farewell to his muse Ulla Winblad among her entourage of lovers. 

Rest down by waters springing
Our little picnic we are bringing
Red wine with spices singing
And a woodcock newly slain
Cheers now, Our bottles clinging
In our baskets over brimming
Emptied in grasses  rolling/singing
Feeling it  bouquet  smell so fine
 Your midday wine
To pour in glasses singing
  It taste so fine
Rest down by waters springing
Salute all our horns cousine
Salute our horns cousine

Heavens this field of pleasure!
surrounding trees  in summer leisure,
pastures of golden treasures 
leading us to walk astray.
  heavens  the leaves are swaying,
  and shapes of dark and light are playing,
treetops are gently shading,
 under the clouds of windy days.
     Come Ulla raise,
your glass of earthly pleasure,
     and let us praise.
Heavens this field of treasure,
with flowers  thousandfold array !
flower thoundsandfold array.

Maiden, see how she’s standing,
and all the dishes overhanding/ she is handling,
 more wine  she is demanding,
  to eggs and olives on her plate.
see her  see how adoring,
 as spoonful cream on top she s pouring;
 robedress her bosom forming,
cutting a piece of almond cake.
    see how she breaks ,
a chicken wing is handling,
     fresh from the plate.
Maiden see how she s standing,
from  pleasant work she perspirate .
from  work she perspirate .

Blow now  your music sounding ,
blowing the winds from all surrounding
singing our hearts are pounding
Among old ladies complaints and sighs .
bredrens! Drink to the dishes,
and then one more  one for the fishes;
Barman, serve all our wishes
fill your board  full up this time.
     cheers you and I!
all her lovers surrounding,
     of every kind!
Blow now  your music sounding
let Every one his glass run dry.
everyone his glass run dry.

Ulla  in this greenery,
one last goodbye let me bid thee ;
Ulla farewell my pretty
all music playing your fanfare.
Fredmans once more is sinning
against all nature laws infringing,
Goddesss the thread is spinning
he paid a button for  Charon’s fare 
    reward the line
of Venus and her kindred
    with god of wine.
Ulla in this greenery,
one last time she was our bride.
one last time was our bride.

Fredman Epistel 82 - Rest Down, by Waters Springing ( English version)

English version of Fredmans Epistel no 72, Glimmande Nymf by Swedish 18th century songwriter Carl Michael Bellman. This is about bliss and lovemaking in the Stockholm summernight some 250 years ago.

Glimmering nymph,  twinkeling  eye
shimmering form  on stormy bed lying
     innocent glory
     come come adoring,
     by a flame so long and deep,
     Morpheus, our God of sleep
roofhatch shut down, frontdoor well closing,
nighthood around a sweet face exposing,
the wig of Nordström fall 
it’s hanging on the wall.
sleep to my music gently fall. :||:

* * *
Chaffinch has just, sweet Caisa my love 
Slumbering closed his song up above
     sunset fell down
     darkness surround
     solitude and silence fall /reigns
     I am bound for venus call  .
rain pouring down thunderclouds storming,
a bow in the sky suspending it’s glory,
so calm and sweet unfold
it’s purple, green and gold,
 when jupiter has thrown his bolts. :||:

* * *
Sweet dreams my nymph! Dream my guitar,
waking our sun    at four o clock star
     you turn over behind,
     and reaching for the wine
     turn back down into my arms,
     fired by my blood and charm.
Caisa you die, heaven she ’s living;
death yielded life and true love is giving .
and though your blod runs slow,
your true eyes sparkle glow.
now no more song good night good night

Fredman Epistel 72 - Glimmering Nymph ( English version)

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