Goethe's Erlkonig, translation

Who rides so late through Night, Wind Wild?
It is the Father with his Child;
He has that Fry tucked in his arm,
He keeps him sicker, holds him warm.

‘Why hidest thou, son, thy pretty eyes?’
‘Seest thou not, sire, the Erlking arise?
The Erlking, crowned, amidst his train?’
‘My son, ‘tis fog doth presage rain.’

O Child beloved, follow me!
And sportive oddments shall ye see –
Many and bright be the Blooms of the Shore,
Golden the Garments my Dam hath in store.

‘Papa, o papa, didst thou not attend
To the vows of the Erlking, to make and to mend?’
‘Be of good cheer, staid cheer, my Child,
For Leaves feel wind just so, in Wild.’

Won’t you come, lovely Knave, won’t you come with me now?
My darling girls wait for thee; ask them not how
They be trim in the dance that is danced all the night,
But take their white hands, and rest in their eyes’ light.

‘O daddy, dear daddy, seest thou still but naught?
Not the Erlkonig’s girls in their house grimly wrought?’
‘O dearest, thy fancies! For I see them well,
And marvel you make Willows bevies from Hell.’

I love thee! for the glance in thy pretty eyes:
And if you resist me, well, force I’ll devise…
‘My father! my father! full hard is his grasp!
And hard be the Wound I have borne in his clasp…’

Though Papa be spooked, yet he presses the Horse,
He cradles the Boy with preemptive remorse,
Thus hampered, he wrests them almost to their Home,
But the Child has gone seeking the rest of the Tomb.