SCHUBERT: SCHWANENGESANG & SCHUMANN: DICHTERLIEBE

Twelve years separate Franz Schubert's last masterpieces of song and Robert Schumann's first serious attempts at the art form. In 1828, at the age of 31, Schubert was at the height of his compositional powers, finally gaining the attention of the Viennese public. He was also at the end of his often solitary and tragically short life. In 1840, Schumann celebrated his 30th birthday and hoped his life was finally beginning to fall into place. Already a respected critic and composer, he was finally settling down with Clara Wieck, an internationally admired pianist. Though their lives followed different paths , both Schubert and Schumann used song composition as a means of catharsis, and in doing so, developed song as a serious art form.

For Schubert, song was a constant companion. From his first song of 1812 to the masterful works of his last months (heard on this recording), song composition served as his coping mechanism, his diary, his mistress . He did not seem to care if the poetry was a famous writer's work, or a few lines given to him by a friend. If he heard music in it, he crafted a song. Rarely was he commissioned to write songs, instead he wrote songs to poetry that spoke to him, then shopped his creations around to publishers.

It is unclear what plans Schubert ultimately had for the songs of Schwanengesang (publisher's title, not Schubert's). The six Heine settings were originally sent separately to the publisher, Probst, in Leipzig, but Schubert died before Probst could respond. Perhaps the Heine songs were originally conceived as a short (even possibly unfinished) cycle. The published song order, clearly numbered in Schubert's hand, differs from the order of the poems in Heine's Heimkehr. But Schubert was known to rearrange the order of poems for other works, including Winterreise, so it is certainly conceivable he intended the same here. In any order, the Heine settings are unified as a beautifully sad reflection of lost love. As for the settings of Ludwig Rellstab, the music critic/poet had originally hoped that Beethoven would set some of his words to music and presented the composer with a variety of poems and libretti on a visit in 1825. Beethoven's secretary, Anton Schindler, then passed on the manuscripts of these poems to Schubert. There is no storyline in Schubert's Rellstab settings, they are simply a collection of the composer at his best, exhibiting a magnificent sense of prosody and character, thoughtful use of both strophic and through-composed forms, and his singular gift of melody.

The poem "Die Taubenpost" did not appear in print during Schubert's lifetime. It was most likely given to him by the poet Seidl himself, who was a friend. The song, quite possibly Schubert's last musical composition, seems to have been collected by Schubert's brother, Ferdinand, and given to Haslinger to publish along with the Rellstab and Heine settings. It is pure Schubert. The bouncing left hand of the pianist moves us through a series of modulations that subtly pull at the heartstrings. The right hand, often syncopated, cheers the singer on as they carol their confession. The poet gives Sehnsucht, a yearning or desire for something unattainable, the form of a carrier pigeon who knows the poet so well that the poet need only send his tears, and his message is faithfully delivered across the miles to his sweetheart.

In the end, Sehnsucht is more cherished by the poet than the beloved, for it gives him purpose. His yearning does not grow weary or stray. He holds it close to his heart, certain that this time it will win him the fairest prize. Yearning is the envoy of constancy. This is the essence of Schubert's song composition, as well. He sent his songs into the world, receiving little in return during his lifetime. Still, song accompanied him through his life and gave him purpose, even in his final illness. Across the centuries, singers, pianists, and lovers of song relish Schubert's outpouring of yearning.

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By 1840, Robert Schumann had already written most of his great works for solo piano and was an important figure in the music world. As a student, he had written a handful of songs, but never took the genre very seriously. His father, a bookseller, instilled a love of literature in Robert, but the fusion of words and music did not speak to him at an early age. The romantic pursuit of his piano teacher's daughter, Clara Wieck, would change everything.

Schumann suddenly felt compelled to write songs. Through their early courtship, her father's desperate attempts to keep them apart, their secret letters and visits, even their court petition to marry against her father's wishes - through all of this, Schumann invested his emotions into the creation of songs. In fact, nearly half of his entire song output was written in 1840 - some 138 songs - giving us what is often called the Liedjahr ('Year of Song'). These songs are full of musical themes identified with Clara, and contain secret messages to her.

The songs of Dichterliebe, Op. 48, were begun on May 24, 1840, and completed in a week. The poetry comes from Heinrich Heine's Lyrisches Intermezzo, which some consider an autobiographical account of a youthful love affair. The text is charged with emotion and irony. Originally, there were twenty songs in the cycle, but four were removed and later published as Op. 127. In comparison with the original 20 songs, there are minor differences in both melody and harmony in the remaining 16 songs, including some ossias which have now become expected. The removed songs certainly are atmospheric and intriguing, but in many ways slow the dramatic arc of the story told in the now traditional sixteen songs.

In essence, Dichterliebe is a young man's confession of first love. The songs begin with longing, infatuation, intimacy, then betrayal, despair, and finally, steps to recovery. At the end of the cycle, we are left with the sense that our poet has worked through his heartbreak, has begun to heal and matured in the process.

Perhaps most remarkable in the musical storytelling is the weight and character that Schumann gives to the piano. In the first song, the voice sings of May and first love in a major key, while the piano taints the young poet's idealism with harmonies of the relative minor. It is the only poem set in the past tense, as if the poet is beginning to recount the story to us and unsure of how to commence with the bittersweet memories. The rest of the cycle is in present tense, but Schumann works in a similar vein, giving the piano different roles - sometimes in concordance with the poet, sometimes in ironic contrast. The work that Schubert began in heightening the role of the piano in the dramatic and psychological development of characters is fully embraced and even further developed by Schumann. In fact, the voice never ends a single song in Dichterliebe, the piano is always given the last word, carrying the story forward and further revealing the emotional state of the poet. The extended piano postludes of "Hör' ich das Liedchen klingen," "Am leuchtenden Sommermorgen," and "Die alten, bösen Lieder" are especially important in revealing that our poet will heal from his heartbreak.

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Sehnsucht, the essence of German Romanticism, is the driving force behind both Schubert and Schumann's seminal song cycles. These two composers' yearning motivated both their choices of poetry and their musical interpretations of it. The themes in Schubert's Schwanengesang echo those of his short, often sad life: longing for an enduring soulmate, momentary glimpses of happiness, fixation on deep loss. Through song, Schumann coped with the difficult courtship of his wife. The Schumanns' struggle permeates the songs of Dichterliebe (and all the songs of 1840). For both composers, song was clearly a means of catharsis. For lovers of song, the intimate settings of Schubert and Schumann remain a means of catharsis still.

English Text

Poet's Love (Schumann-Heine)

i.
In the wonderfully beautiful month of May,
as all the buds were bursting open,
That is when love
rose up in my heart.
In the wonderfully beautiful month of May,
as all the birds were singing,
That is when I confessed to her
my passion and longing.

ii.
Out of my tears
spring many blooming flowers,
and my sighs
become a choir of nightingales.
And if you love me, sweet girl,
I will give you all these flowers,
And in front of your window
the nightingale will sing.

iii.
The rose, the lily, the dove, the sun,
All of these I loved in love's bliss.
I no longer love them, I love only her:
the small, elegant, and pure one, the only one.
She herself is the fount of all love.
She is the rose, the lily, the dove and the sun.
I love only the small, elegant, and pure one,
the only one.

iv.
When I look into your eyes,
all of my sadness and pain vanishes;
But when I kiss your mouth,
I become completely healed and whole.
When I lay my head upon your breast,
The joys of heaven steal over me;
But when you speak the words: "I love you!"
Then I must weep bitterly.

v.
I want to plunge my soul
into the cup of the lily;
For the lily would then resoand breathe a song of
my beloved.
The song should tremble and shake
as her kiss does:
The kiss she once gave me
that exquisitely sweet hour.

vi.
In the Rhine's holy current,
mirrored in the waves,
is the great holy city of Cologne
with it's grand cathedral.
In the cathedral is a picture,
painted upon golden leather;
Into my turbulent life
it's friendly radiance shone.
Flowers and angels float
around Our Lady;
The eyes, the lips, the cheeks,
they are just like those of my beloved.

vii.
I bear no grudge,
even if my heart is breaking,
Forever lost love!
I bear no grudge.
How you shine
in your diamond splendor.
But not one ray of light falls
into the night of your heart.
This I have known for a long time.
I bear no grudge,
even if my heart is breaking.
I saw you in a dream,
saw the night
within your heart,
and saw the snake
which feeds upon your heart,
I saw, my love,
how very wretched you are.
I bear no grudge, I bear no grudge.

viii.
And if the little flowers knew
how deeply wounded my heart is,
they would weep with me
to help ease my pain.
And if the nightingales knew
how despondent and sick I am,
they would let out a joyful song
to restore me.
And if the golden stars
knew of my woes,
The would descend from their heights
and speak consolingly to me.

None of these can know -
Only one knows my pain;
She herself
has torn apart my heart.

ix.
The sound of flutes and violins,
trumpets blaring amongst them;
My heart's beloved must be dancing there,
dancing at her wedding feast.
The sound of ringing and of drones,
of drumming and booming;
Through all of this, one can still hear
the little angels sob and moan.

x.
When I hear the little song
my beloved used to sing,
my heart seems to want to burst
from my chest with great pain.
A dark yearning seems to pull me
up to the woody heights.
There my overwhelming grief
releases itself in tears.

English Text (con't)

xi.
A boy is in love with a girl
who is in love with another boy;
The boy she loves prefers a different girl,
and marries her.
The girl spitefully marries
the next best man
that crosses her path;
The boy is bitter because of it.
It is an old story,
but is always new;
And when it happens to someone,
it breaks his heart in two.

xii.
On a bright summer morning
I go walking in the garden.
The flowers whisper and speak,
but I make my way in silence.
The flowers whisper and speak
and look at me with sympathy:
"Do not be angry with our sister,
you sad, pale man."

xiii.
In my dreams I wept,
I dreamed you lay in the grave.
I woke, and tears
were still flowing down my cheeks.
In my dreams I wept,
I dreamed you had left me.
I woke, and still for a long time
I wept bitterly.
In my dreams I wept,
I dreamed you were still in love with me.
I woke, and still tears
rush down my face.

xiv.
Everynight in my dreams I see you,
and see you greet me in friendship,
and loudly I sob,
throwing myself at your feet.
You look at me sadly
and gently shake your fair head,
from your eyes
steal tiny tears of pearl.
Secretly, you say a soft word,
and give me a wreath of cypress,
I awake, the wreath is gone,
and I cannot remember the word you told me.

xv.
Out of the old fairy tales
A white hand beckons;
There are songs and sounds
of a magic land:
Colorful flowers
bloom in the golden light of evening,
they glow with a lovely scent,
and the face of a bride;
Green trees
sing ancient melodies,
breezes secretly echo
and birds chatter.
And cloudy shapes rise up
from the earth
and dance airy dances
in wonderful chorus;
And blue sparks
burn on every leaf and twig,
and red lights run
in wild, strange circles.
Springs surge everywhere
from the marble cliffs,
and strange reflections
shine in the brooks.
Ah, if only I could go to that land,
and put my heart at ease,
I could be relieved of all pain
and know freedom and bliss.
Ah, this land of wonder,
I have often seen it in a dream,
but when the morning sun rises,
it disappears like a wisp of foam

xvi.
The old, wicked songs,
The angry, grim dreams,
let us now bury them;
bring a large coffin.
Inside I will place several things,
although I will not yet say what;
The coffin must be even larger
than the vat at Heidelberg.
Bring me a funeral bier,
made of strong thick planks;
It must also be longer
than the bridge at Mainz.
Bring me twelve giants,
they must be even stronger
than the great St. Christopher
in the Cologne cathedral.
They should carry the coffin away
and sink it deep into the sea;
Such a large coffin
is worthy of a large grave.
Do you know why this coffin
is to be so large and heavy?
Within it I bury
my love and my pain.

English translations by Randall Scarlata

Liebesbotschaft (Ludwig Rellstab)

Rauschendes Bächlein,
So silbern und hell,
Eilst zur Geliebten?
So munter und schnell?
Ach, trautes Bächlein,
Mein Bote sei du;
Bringe die Grüße
Des Fernen ihr zu.

All ihre Blumen,
Im Garten gepflegt,
Die sie so lieblich
Am Busen trägt,
Und ihre Rosen? In purpurner Glut,
Bächlein, erquicke
Mit kühlender Flut.

Wenn sie am Ufer,
In Träume versenkt,
Meiner gedenkend
Das Köpfchen hängt,
Tröste die Süße
Mit freundlichem Blick,
Denn der Geliebte
Kehrt bald zurück.

Neigt sich die Sonne
Mit rötlichem Schein,
Wiege das Liebchen
In Schlummer ein.
Rausche sie murmelnd
In süße Ruh,
Flüstre ihr Träume
Der Liebe zu.

Kriegers Ahnung (Rellstab)

In tiefer Ruh liegt um mich her
Der Waffenbrüder Kreis;
Mir ist das Herz so bang und schwer,
Von Sehnsucht mir so heiß.

Wie hab ich oft so süß geträumt
An ihrem Busen warm!
Wie freundlich schien des Herdes Glut,
Lag sie in meinem Arm!

Hier, wo der Flammen düstrer Schein
Ach! nur auf Waffen spielt,
Hier fühlt die Brust sich ganz allein,
Der Wehmut Träne quillt.

Herz! Daß der Trost dich nicht verläßt!
Es ruft noch manche Schlacht.
Bald ruh ich wohl und schlafe fest,
Herzliebste - gute Nacht!

Frühlingssehnsucht (Rellstab)

Säuselnde Lüfte wehend so mild
Blumiger Düfte atmend erfüllt!
Wie haucht ihr mich wonnig begrüßend an!
Wie habt ihr dem pochenden Herzen getan?
Es möchte euch folgen auf luftiger Bahn!
Wohin?

Bächlein, so munter rauschend zumal,
Wollen hinunter silbern ins Tal.
Die schwebende Welle, dort eilt sie dahin!
Tief spiegeln sich Fluren und Himmel darin.
Was ziehst du mich, sehnend verlangender Sinn,
Hinab?

Grüßender Sonne spielendes Gold,
Hoffende Wonne bringest du hold!
Wie labt mich dein selig begrüßendes Bild!
Es lächelt am tiefblauen Himmel so mild
Und hat mir das Auge mit Tränen gefüllt!
Warum?

Grünend umkränzet Wälder und Höh'!
Schimmernd erglänzet Blütenschnee!
So dränget sich alles zum bräutlichen Licht;
Es schwellen die Keime, die Knospe bricht;
Sie haben gefunden, was ihnen gebricht:
Und du?

Rastloses Sehnen! Wünschendes Herz,
Immer nur Tränen, Klage und Schmerz?
Auch ich bin mir schwellender Triebe bewußt!
Wer stillet mir endlich die drängende Lust?
Nur du befreist den Lenz in der Brust,
Nur du!

Ständchen (Rellstab)

Leise flehen meine Lieder
Durch die Nacht zu dir;
In den stillen Hain hernieder,
Liebchen, komm zu mir!

Flüsternd schlanke Wipfel rauschen
In des Mondes Licht;
Des Verräters feindlich Lauschen
Fürchte, Holde, nicht.

Hörst die Nachtigallen schlagen? Ach! sie flehen dich,
Mit der Töne süßen Klagen
Flehen sie für mich.
Sie verstehn des Busens Sehnen,
Kennen Liebesschmerz,
Rühren mit den Silbertönen
Jedes weiche Herz.

Laß auch dir die Brust bewegen,
Liebchen, höre mich!
Bebend harr' ich dir entgegen!
Komm, beglücke mich!

Aufenthalt (Rellstab)

Rauschender Strom,
Brausender Wald,
Starrender Fels
Mein Aufenthalt.

Wie sich die Welle
An Welle reiht,
Fließen die Tränen
Mir ewig erneut.

Hoch in den Kronen
Wogend sich's regt,
So unaufhörlich
Mein Herze schlägt.

Und wie des Felsen
Uraltes Erz,
Ewig derselbe
Bleibet mein Schmerz.

In der Ferne (Rellstab)

Wehe dem Fliehenden,
Welt hinaus ziehenden! -
Fremde durchmessenden,
Heimat vergessenden,
Mutterhaus hassenden,
Freunde verlassenden
Folget kein Segen, ach!
Auf ihren Wegen nach!

Herze, das sehnende,
Auge, das tränende,
Sehnsucht, nie endende,
Heimwärts sich wendende!
Busen, der wallende,
Klage, verhallende,
Abendstern, blinkender,
Hoffnungslos sinkender!

Lüfte, ihr säuselnden,
Wellen sanft kräuselnden,
Sonnenstrahl, eilender,
Nirgend verweilender:
Die mir mit Schmerze, ach!
Dies treue Herze brach -
Grüßt von dem Fliehenden,
Welt hinaus ziehenden!

Abschied (Rellstab)

Ade! du muntre, du fröhliche Stadt, ade!
Schon scharret mein Rößlein mit lustigen Fuß;
Jetzt nimm noch den letzten, den scheidenden Gruß.
Du hast mich wohl niemals noch traurig gesehn,
So kann es auch jetzt nicht beim Abschied geschehn.

Ade, ihr Bäume, ihr Gärten so grün, ade!
Nun reit ich am silbernen Strome entlang.
Weit schallend ertönet mein Abschiedsgesang;
Nie habt ihr ein trauriges Lied gehört,
So wird euch auch keines beim Scheiden beschert!

Ade, ihr freundlichen Mägdlein dort, ade!
Was schaut ihr aus blumenumduftetem Haus
Mit schelmischen, lockenden Blicken heraus
Wie sonst, so grüß ich und schaue mich um,
Doch nimmer wend ich mein Rößlein um.

Ade, liebe Sonne, so gehst du zur Ruh, ade!
Nun schimmert der blinkenden Sterne Gold.
Wie bin ich euch Sternlein am Himmel so hold;
Durchziehn wir die Welt auch weit und breit,
Ihr gebt überall uns das treue Geleit.

Ade! du schimmerndes Fensterlein hell, ade!
Du glänzest so traulich mit dämmerndem Schein
Und ladest so freundlich ins Hüttchen uns ein.
Vorüber, ach, ritt ich so manches Mal,
Und wär es denn heute zum letzten Mal?

Ade, ihr Sterne, verhüllet euch grau! Ade!
Des Fensterlein trübes, verschimmerndes Licht
Ersetzt ihr unzähligen Sterne mir nicht,
Darf ich hier nicht weilen, muß hier vorbei, Was hilft es, folgt ihr mir noch so treu!

Der Atlas (Heine)

Ich unglücksel'ger Atlas! Eine Welt,
Die ganze Welt der Schmerzen muß ich tragen,
Ich trage Unerträgliches, und brechen
Will mir das Herz im Leibe.

Du stolzes Herz, du hast es ja gewollt!
Du wolltest glücklich sein, unendlich glücklich,
Oder unendlich elend, stolzes Herz,
Und jetzo bist du elend.

Ihr Bild (Heine)

Ich stand in dunkeln Träumen
und starrte ihr Bildnis an,
und das geliebte Antlitz
Heimlich zu leben begann.

Um ihre Lippen zog sich
Ein Lächeln wunderbar,
Und wie von Wehmutstränen
Erglänzte ihr Augenpaar.

Auch meine Tränen flossen
Mir von den Wangen herab -
Und ach, ich kann's nicht glauben,
Daß ich dich verloren hab!
Das Fischermädchen (Heine)

Du schönes Fischermädchen,
Treibe den Kahn ans Land;
Komm zu mir und setze dich nieder,
Wir kosen Hand in Hand.

Leg an mein Herz dein Köpfchen
Und fürchte dich nicht zu sehr;
Vertraust du dich doch sorglos
Täglich dem wilden Meer.

Mein Herz gleicht ganz dem Meere,
Hat Sturm und Ebb' und Flut,
Und manche schöne Perle
In seiner Tiefe ruht.

Die Stadt (Heine)

Am fernen Horizonte
Erscheint, wie ein Nebelbild,
Die Stadt mit ihren Türmen,
In Abenddämmrung gehüllt.

Ein feuchter Windzug kräuselt
Die graue Wasserbahn;
Mit traurigem Takte rudert
Der Schiffer in meinem Kahn.

Die Sonne hebt sich noch einmal
Leuchtend vom Boden empor
Und zeigt mir jene Stelle,
Wo ich das Liebste verlor.

Am Meer (Heine)

Das Meer erglänzte weit hinaus
Im letzten Abendscheine;
Wir saßen am einsamen Fischerhaus,
Wir saßen stumm und alleine.

Der Nebel stieg, das Wasser schwoll,
Die Möwe flog hin und wieder;
Aus deinen Augen liebevoll
Fielen die Tränen nieder.

Ich sah sie fallen auf deine Hand
Und bin aufs Knie gesunken;
Ich hab von deiner weißen Hand
Die Tränen fortgetrunken.

Seit jener Stunde verzehrt sich mein Leib,
Die Seele stirbt vor Sehnen;
Mich hat das unglücksel'ge Weib
Vergiftet mit ihren Tränen.

Der Doppelgänger (Heine)

Still ist die Nacht, es ruhen die Gassen,
In diesem Hause wohnte mein Schatz;
Sie hat schon längst die Stadt verlassen,
Doch steht noch das Haus auf demselben Platz.

Da steht auch ein Mensch und starrt in die Höhe
Und ringt die Hände vor Schmerzensgewalt;
Mir graust es, wenn ich sein Antlitz sehe -
Der Mond zeigt mir meine eigne Gestalt.

Du Doppelgänger, du bleicher Geselle!
Was äffst du nach mein Liebesleid,
Das mich gequält auf dieser Stelle
So manche Nacht, in alter Zeit?

Die Taubenpost (Johann Gabriel Seidl)

Ich hab' eine Brieftaub' in meinem Sold,
Die ist gar ergeben und treu,
Sie nimmt mir nie das Ziel zu kurz
Und fliegt auch nie vorbei.

Ich sende sie viel tausendmal
Auf Kundschaft täglich hinaus,
Vorbei an manchem lieben Ort,
Bis zu der Liebsten Haus.

Dort schaut sie zum Fenster heimlich hinein,
Belauscht ihren Blick und Schritt,
Gibt meine Grüße scherzend ab
Und nimmt die ihren mit.

Kein Briefchen brauch ich zu schreiben mehr,
Die Träne selbst geb ich ihr,
Oh, sie verträgt sie sicher nicht,
Gar eifrig dient sie mir.

Bei Tag, bei Nacht, im Wachen, im Traum,
Ihr gilt das alles gleich,
Wenn sie nur wandern, wandern kann,
Dann ist sie überreich!

Sie wird nicht müd, sie wird nicht matt,
Der Weg ist stets ihr neu;
Sie braucht nicht Lockung, braucht nicht Lohn,
Die Taub' ist so mir treu!

Drum heg ich sie auch so treu an der Brust,
Versichert des schönsten Gewinns;
Sie heißt - die Sehnsucht! Kennt ihr sie? - Die Botin treuen Sinns.

Love's Message

Murmuring little brook,
So silvery and bright,
Do you hurry to my love,
So cheerfully and quickly?
Ah, dear little brook,
You are my messenger -
Bring my greetings
From the distance to her.

All the flowers
Cared for in her garden,
Those which she so lovingly
Wears upon her bosom,
And her roses,
With their crimson glow,
Little brook, refresh them
With your cool current.

When she, on your banks
Sinks into dreams,
And thinking of me
Hangs her head:
Comfort the sweet girl
With a friendly glance,
For her beloved
Will soon return.

When the sun sets
With its red glow,
Rock my beloved
Into slumber.
Rush along, murmuring
Sweetly in her sleep,
Whisper dreams
Of love to her.

Warrior's Premonition

In deep sleep, my brothers-in-arms
Lie around me in a circle.
My heart is anxious and heavy,
Tt has become so hot with longing.

How often have I sweetly dreamt
upon her warm bosom!
How friendly seemed the hearth's glow
When she lay in my arms!
Here, the flame's gloomy glow

Ah! only on weapons plays,
Here one feels completely alone,
And tears of melancholy flow.

Heart, may your solace not desert you!
There are many battles still to come.
Soon I shall rest well and sleep deeply,
Love of my Heart, Goodnight!

Yearning for Spring

Rustling breezes, blowing so gently,
Your breath is filled with the scent of flowers!
How lovely is the greeting you breathe to me!
What have you done to my pounding heart?
It wants to follow you on your airy way!
To where?

Little stream, always cheerful in your rushing,
Like silver, you flow down into the valley.
The lilting waves, they hurry along!
Meadows and sky are mirrored deeply within.
How you draw me, longing, eager spirit,
Down that way?

Playful gold of the greeting sun,
You tenderly bring hopeful joy!
How your welcoming image, sacred, refreshes me!
It smiles gently within the deep blue sky
And fills my eyes with tears,
Why?

Green crowns all the forests and hills!
The shimmer of snowy white blossoms sparkles!
Everything is pulled toward the bridal light;
Sprouts burst, buds break open;
They have found what summoned them:
And you?

Restless desire, longing heart,
Is it always to be only tears, lament and pain?
I also understand this surging desire!
Who can finally still this urgent longing?
Only you can set free the springtime in my breast,
Only you!

Serenade

Softly, through the night
My songs call to you.
Down here in the silent grove,
Beloved, come to me!

Whispering, slim treetops rustle
In the moon's light;
Do not worry, my dear one,
About anyone overhearing us.

Do you hear the call of the nightingale?
Ah, they implore you,
With their tone's sweet lament,
They implore you on my behalf.

They understand the bosom's yearning,
They know the pain of love,
They stir with their silvery tones
Every soft heart.

Let also your heart be moved!
Beloved, hear me!
Trembling, I plead to you!
Come, make me happy!

Resting Place

Rushing torrent,
Roaring forest,
Stony crag,
My resting place.

Just as the waves roll
One after another,
My tears flow
Eternally renewed.

The high treetops
Billow and stir,
Just as unceasingly
Beats my heart.

Und like the rock's
Primeval ore,
Ever the same
Remains my pain.

In the Distance

Woe to the fugitive,
Fleeing the world!
Roaming foreign places,
Forgetting his homeland,
Hating his mother's house,
Leaving his friends,
Alas, no blessing follows
Along their ways.

Heart that yearns,
Eye that weeps,
Longing that never ends,
Ever turning towards home.
Breast that heaves,
Lament that echoes,
Evening star that twinkles,
Hopelessly sinking!

Breezes, that rustle,
Waves gently tossing,
Sunbeam, you hasten,
And never settle:
She who with pain, ah!
Broke my faithful heart-
Send greetings from the fugitive,
Fleeing the world!

Farewell

Goodbye! You cheerful, you happy town, goodbye!
My horse already eagerly paws the ground,
Now take my last, departing greeting.
You've never seen me downcast before,
And so it will not be at my parting.

Goodbye, you trees, you gardens so green, goodbye!
Now I ride along the silvery stream,
Far and wide my farewell song resounds,
You've never heard a sorrowful song from me,
And you also won't hear one now at my departure!

Goodbye, you friendly girls there, goodbye!
Why do you look out of your flower-perfumed house
With a flirtatious, enticing glance?
As I always did, I greet you and take a look,
But I will never turn my horse around.

Goodbye, dear sun, now go to your rest, goodbye!
Now the gold of the twinkling stars shimmers.
How dear you stars in the heavens are to me;
We travel the world both far and wide,
And everywhere we go, you give us faithful guidance.

Goodbye, you sparkling bright window, goodbye!
You shine so sweetly in the twilight's glow,
And invite us so kindly into your cottage.
Alas, I've ridden by here so many times,
And is today really to be the final time?

Goodbye, you stars, veil yourself in gray! Goodbye!
The dark, fading light of the window
Can't be replaced by you countless stars,
I can't linger here, I must go on,
What does it help however faithfully you follow me!

Atlas

I, most unhappy Atlas, a world
The entire world of pain I must carry,
I bear the unbearable, and my heart? Wants to break in my body.

You proud heart, you wanted it so!
You wanted to be happy, eternally happy,
Or eternally wretched, proud heart,
And thus you are wretched.

Her Portrait

I stood in dark dreams
And stared at her portrait,
And the beloved likeness
Quietly came to life.

Upon her lips appeared
A wonderful smile,
And as if from tears of melancholy,
Her eyes sparkled.

My tears also flowed
Down from my cheeks-
And ah, I cannot believe it,
That I have lost you!

The Fisher Girl

You lovely fisher girl,
Row your boat to shore;
Come to me and sit yourself down,
We'll sit together hand in hand.

Lay your head on my breast
And do not be too afraid;
You trust yourself without care
Daily to the wild sea.

My heart, like the sea,
Has storm and ebb and flood,
And many a lovely pearl
Rests in its depths.

The Town

On the distant horizon
Appears, like a misty image,
The town with its spires,
Shrouded in the gloom of evening.

A damp breeze ruffles
The gray surface of the water;
With a mournful rhythm rows
The boatman in my skiff.

The sun lifts itself once again,
Casting it's light from the ground upwards,
And shows me the very spot
Where I lost what I most loved.

By the Sea

The sea glistened far and wide
In the last glow of evening;
We sat at the lonely fisherman's hut,
We sat silent and alone.

The fog rose, the water swelled.
The gulls flew back and forth;
From your eyes, full of love,
The tears dropped down.

I saw them fall upon your hand
And fell to my knees;
From your white hand
I drank away the tears.

Since that moment my body wastes away.
My soul dies with yearning;
That terribly sad woman
Has poisoned me with her tears.

The Ghostly Double

Still is the night, the alleys are at rest,
In this house lived my beloved.
She left the town a long time ago,
But the house still stands in the same place.

A man stands there, too, his eyes fixed upward.
He wrings his hands from the weight of his pain;
I'm horrified when I see his face-
The moon shows me my own likeness.

You ghostly double, you pale companion!
Why do you ape my sufferings of love,
That tormented me in this place
So many nights long ago?

The Courier Pigeon

I have a courier pigeon in my service,
She is very devoted and true.
She never stops short of her goal
And never flies beyond it.

I send her out many thousand times
With messages every day,
She passes many dear places,
Until she reaches my beloved's house.

She peeks through the window secretly there,
And watches for my dear's step and glance,
The dove gives her my greetings playfully
And brings hers back to me.

I don't need to write notes anymore,
I simply give her my tears,
Oh, she will surely never carry them astray,
She serves me so eagerly.

By day, by night, awake, in dreams,
It's all the same to her,
As long as she is able to wander,
She feels more than fulfilled.

She never tires, she never slows,
The way is ever new to her,
She needs no enticement, needs no reward,
The dove is so loyal to me!

And so I keep her close to my heart,
Assured of the sweetest reward;
Her name is-longing! Do you know her? She is the messenger of true hearts.

Translation by Randall Scarlata