Hello. Nearly three months ago I studied Quenya and did some translations. I would be really pleased if someone could correct this one; Goethe's "Erlkönig". Translations into English (the last by Edgar Alfred Bowring) are below the Quenya text. Hope you find something
•Man nortëa acca telwa
ter lómë ar súrë?
Atar as yondorya nár.
Háryëas hína rancoryassë,
•"Yondonya, manaren nurtëal rucëavë antalya?".
"Lá cénëa, atarinya, i Aran Eldaiva?
I Aran Eldaiva arwa ríë ar colla?".
"Yondonya, hísë ná".
•"Melin hína, á tulë asinyë, tyaluva aselyë márë tyalier;
ëar laitelion lóter falassë,
amilinya harya laurië hampeli".
•"Atarinya, atarinya, lá hláralyë ya Aran Eldaiva hilivë nyáraryen?".
"Á ro, yondonya, á ro; súrë ya léva narquelië lassi ná".
•"Lá méran, mára hína, asinyë tulë?
Yeldinya márië hirsuvantel;
yeldinya nin liltuvantë lómissë,
ar luluvar, liltuvar ar liruvar an loruvalyë".
•"Atarinya, atarinya, úmal cenë tanomë, yeldi Arano Eldaiva huinë nómessë tana?".
"Yondonya, yondonya, sá cénëanyes: nalta acca sinda tasareon ná".
•"Melen le ar ausalya, ar írë lá mévalyen nauvan ormëa". "Atarinya, atarinya, sí mápëaryen! I Aran Eldaiva anahtiëryen!".
•I rucëa atar, lintië lehtëa, yúlua rancuryassë yaimëa hína,
tarwavë ménas coanna,
rancuryassë i hína vanwa ná.
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 Elf-king?
The Elf-king with crown and cape?"
"My son, it's 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 Elf-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 Elf-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 entices me;
And if you're not willing, then I will use force."
"My father, my father, he's touching me now!
The Elf-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.
Translation by Edgar Alfred Bowring.
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.