Sir Walter Scott: “Song of the Imprisoned Huntsman”

by Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832), “Song of the Imprisoned Huntsman” from The Lady of the Lake, The Guard Room, XXIV.
Set by Franz Peter Schubert (1797-1828) , “Lied des gefangenen Jägers”, op. 52 no. 7, D. 843 (1825).

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“Lied des gefangenen Jägers”

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 My hawk is tired of perch and hood.
My idle greyhound loathes his food,
My horse is weary of his stall
And I am sick of captive thrall.

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I wish I were, as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forest green,
With bended bow and bloodhound free,
For that’s the life is meet for me.

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I hate to learn the ebb of time
From yon dull steeple’s drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.

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The lark was wont my matins ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, although a king’s they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me.

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No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen’s eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew.

Emanuel von Geibel: “Silent Love”

Excerpt, “The Spirit of German Poetry:  A Series of translations from the German Poets, with Critical and Biographical Notices.”   Translated by Joseph Gostick.  1845.

Christoph Martin Wieland: “The Pain of Separation”

Excerpt, “The Poetry of Germany, Consisting from Upwards of Seventy of the Most Celebrated Poets.”  Translated into English Verse by Alfred Baskerville.  1853.

 

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Chamisso: “Peter Schlemihl”

 

To My old Friend
Peter Schlemihl

After long years once more thy writing lay
Before me, and – how wonderful – forth flew
Back on my heart our youthful friendship’s day,
When in the world’s great school we yet were new.
I now am an old man; my hair is grey,
And false shame I have long learned to subdue,
Yes! I will call thee friend, as I did then,
Will hail thee mine, and tell it unto men!

My poor, poor friend! the joggling fiend hath not
Me, as thyself, so treacherously undone;
Still have I striven, still hoped a brighter lot,
And truly, in the end, have little won’
Yet the Grey Man will boast not to have got
Hold of my shadow; nor hath ever done.
Here lies my native shadow, free unfurled:
I never lost my shadow in the world.

Yet, guiltless as a child, on me descended
The scorn men for thy nakedness did feel,
What! is our likeness then so subtly blended?
They shouted, “Where’s thy shadow, O Schlemihl?”
And when I showed it, laughing, they pretended
Blindness, and still laughed endless peal on peal.
What help? We learn in patience to endure;
Nay more – are glad – feel we our conscience pure.

And what then is the shadow? May I know it?
As I myself so oft am catechised?
Thus monstrously, and higher far to show it,
Than the harsh world itself it e’er hath prized?
Yes! and to nineteen thousand days we own it
Which passing o’er us, thus have us advised –
As formerly to shadow we gave being,
We now see life, a shadow, from us fleeing.

And thereupon we give our hands, Schlemihl!
On we will go, and to the Old One leave it;
How little for the whole world will we feel,
But our own union, firm and firmer weave it.
As thus unto our goal we nearer wheel,
Who laughs or blames — we’ll hear not, nor conceive it;
Till, ‘scaped from all the tempests of the deep
We’ll enter port, and sleep our soundest sleep.


Berlin, August 1834

Adelbert von Chamisso

 

 Excerpt, “The Wonderful History of Peter Schlemihl” by Adelbert von Chamisso. London: Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans. Paternoster Row. 1843. Translated by William Howitt.  Illustrated by A. Fleischmann.

Friedrich Halm: “My Heart…”

.Excerpt, “Translations From The German Poets.” Edward Stanhope Pearson. 1879.

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My heart, I fain would ask thee,

What call’st thou love, expound?

“Two souls with one thought between them,

Two hearts with one pulse-bound!”

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And say, from whence love cometh:

“She comes, and lo, she’s there!”

And say, how doth love vanish?

“If so, love never were.”

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And when is love the purest?

“When she herself excludes!”

And when is love the deepest?

“When silentest she broods!”

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And when is love the richest?

“Then when with gifts she’s fraught!”

And say, what is’t love speaketh?

“She loves, but speaketh nought!”

Collin: “Night and Dreams”

by Matthäus Kasimir von Collin (1779-1824), “Nachtfeier”

See Musical Video

By Franz Peter Schubert (1797-1828), “Nacht und Träume”, op. 43 no. 2, D. 827 (1822?), published 1825. Translation © by KarenL.

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Nacht und Träume

Holy night, you sink down;
Dreams also float down
As your moonlight fills the room,
Fills the sleeping hearts of men.
They listen with pleasure;
Crying, when the day awakes:
Return, fair night!
Fair dreams, return!


C. A. Tiedge: “To the Sun”

By Christoph August Tiedge (1752-1841. Set by Franz Peter Schubert (1797-1828) , “An die Sonne,” D. 272 (1815), published 1872. Translation © by Emily Ezust, from The Lied & Art Song Texts Page.

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Historic Heidelberg – 1815, Carl Anton Joseph Rottman

 
An die Sonne

Regal morning sun,

I greet you in your bliss,

I greet you heartily in your splendour!

The hills are already flowing with the gold

of your robes, and the birds

in every wood are all awake.

 

Everything feels your blessing;

the meadows beneath you sing;

everything becomes harmony:

and you listen with pleasure to the choir

of the merry woods; o listen,

listen also to my song of praise.

 

August Graf von Platen-Hallermünde: “The Better Part”

Excerpt, “The Spirit of German Poetry:  A Series of translations from the German Poets, with Critical and Biographical Notices. ”   Translated by Joseph Gostick.  1845.

Walther von der Vogelweide – Minnesinger

Excerpt, Edgar Taylor: “Lay of the Minnesingers, or German Troubadours of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries.” London: 1825.

Walther von der Vogelweide, one of the most distinguished of the Minnesingers, was born in the latter half of the Twelfth Century of a noble family belonging to the Upper Thurgau. The name Vogelweide (Bird-meadow) appears to have been taken from that of their castle. The poet led a wandering life; sometimes at the court of Frederic, the Duke of Austria and Stiria; then kindly received by Philip Augustus, King of France.
But he remained long at the magnificent court of the Landgrave of Thuringia, the great patron of the poets of his age, who instituted the poetical contest called the War of Wartburg, in which Walther took part. A work is still preserved called “The Wartburg War,” consisting of the alternate songs of the bards who took part in this poetical joust.
Tradition places the date of this tuneful tourney in the year 1207, the most brilliant epoch of ancient German poetry, not only for the illustrious names which have been handed down to our day, but for the impulse given to the ancient national and heroic poetry by unknown minstrels. Hermann, Landgrave of Thuringia, had gathered round his court many of the most famous Minnesingers, who had celebrated in lays and ballads the warlike deeds of his martial house.
Heinrich von Ofterdingen appears as the champion of the Austrian prince. He throws down the gauntlet to all the poets, and offers to maintain the virtues of his hero against all the singer tribe, under penalty of being hanged in case of defeat.
Walther, as court poet of the Thuringian prince, accepts the challenge, and enters the lists against Heinrich von Ofterdingen. Walther regrets that he is obliged to declare against the Duke of Austria and his brave cavaliers; then he praises the King of France, Philip Augustus, in whose reign the poetry of the North of France rivaled the glory of the Provençal muse.
This the poet could testify from his own knowledge, for he had crossed the Rhine and visited the banks of the Seine. But in the course of the contest he partially recants, and sets the gracious Duke above the monarch, calling him the Sun; but the Landgrave he compares to the brightness that precedes the Sun.
Ofterdingen complains of Walther, accuses him of playing an unfair game, and resorts to Klinsor of Hungary to sustain the supremacy of Austria. The other champions call for Stempfel of Eisenach, who stands ready the halter; but Ofterdingen is protected by the Landgravine, who intercedes in his defense.
The place of the scene was the great Wartburg castle, a hall that still exists, and is shown as a monument of the joust…
Walther seems to have adopted all the habits and manners of the wandering minstrels of the times. He traveled from court to court, generally received with honor, tarrying with the German princes who protected the arts of poetry and music, and sometimes at foreign courts, and was welcomed everywhere.

When from the sod and the flowerets spring,

And smile to meet the sun’s bright ray,

When birds their sweetest carols sing,

Is all the morning pride of May.

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What lovelier than the prospect there?

Can earth boast anything more fair?

To me it seems an almost heaven,

So beauteous to my eyes

That vision bright is given.

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But when a lady chaste and fair,

Noble, and clad in rich attire,

Walks through the throng with gracious sir,

As sun that bids the stars retire –

Then, where are all thy boastings, May?

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What hast though beautiful and gay,

Compared with that supreme delight?

We leave thy loveliest flowers,

And watch that lady bright.

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Wouldst thou believe me – come and place

Before thee all this pride of May;

Then look but on my lady’s face,

And which is best and brightest say,

For me, how soon (if choice were mine)

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This would I take, and that resign,

And say, “Though sweet thy beauties, May

I’d rather forfeit all than lose my lady gay!”

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Thomas Carlyle: “A Great Soul”

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 a great soul3

Paul Johann Ludwig von Heyse: “Summer-Weary”

Excerpt, “Borrowed Plumes.”  Translations from German Poets.” James Gribble.  1888.

Pierre-Jean de Béranger: The Alchemist

Excerpt, “Echoes: or Leisure Hours with the German Poets.” Translated by A. C. Kendrick. Rochester:  1855.

Arturas Slapsys

Pierre-Jean de Béranger

Goethe: “Mephisto’s Song of the Flea”

By Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827), “Aus Goethe’s Faust“, op. 75 no. 3 (1809). Translator: Anna Swanwick, 1850.,,

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“Aus Goethes Faust: Mephistos Floh Lied”

 

A king there was once reigning,

Who had a goodly flea,

Him loved he without feigning,

As his own son were he!

 

His tailor then he summon’d,

The tailor to him goes;

Now measure me the youngster

For jerkin and for hose!

 

In satin and in velvet

Behold the younker dressed;

Bedizen’d o’er with ribbons,

A cross upon his breast.

 

Prime minister they made him,

He wore a star of state;

And all his poor relations

Were courtiers, rich and great.

 

The gentlemen and ladies

At court were sore distressed;

The queen and all her maidens

Were bitten by the pest,

 

And yet they dared not scratch them,

Or chase the fleas away.

If we are bit, we catch them

And crack them without delay..’

August Graf von Platen: “In The Night”

Excerpt, “German Poetry with The English Versions of The Best Translations.” Edited by H.E. Goldschmidt.  1869. Translated by Richard Garnett.

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Hierónimo de Contreras: “Sighs”

Excerpt, “Ancient Romances and Poetry from Spain.” Selected and translated by John Bowring, London, 1824.

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Goethe: “Solace in Tears”

 

SOLACE IN TEARS


Come, tell me why this sadness now,

When all so glad appears?

One sees it in thine eyes, my friend:

Thou’st surely been in tears.

 

“And if I go alone and weep,

‘T is grief I can’t impart;

And ‘t is so sweet, when tears will flow,

And ease the heavy heart.”

 

Thy gladsome friends, they call to thee:

O, come unto our breast!

And whatso’er thy heavy loss,

Confide it to the rest.

 

“Ye talk and stir, and do not dream

What ‘t is that ails poor me:

Ah, no! ‘t is nothing I have lost,

Though somewhat wanting be.”

 

Then gather up thy spirits once;

Thy blood is youthsome yet:

To youth like thine there wanteth not

The strength to seek and get.

 

“Ah, no!  to get it, that were vain:

It stands off all too far;

It dwells so high, it shines so fair,

As fair as yonder star.”

 

The stars we do not seek to have;

We but enjoy their light,

As we look up in ecstasy,

On every pleasant night.

 

“And I look up in ecstasy,

Full many a lovely day;

So leave me to my mood at night,

To weep while weep I may.”

 

 

Translator:  John S. Dwight, 1839

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Eichendorff: “I travel silently…”

By Josef Karl Benedikt von Eichendorff (1788-1857) from “Gedichte (Ausgabe 1841)” in Wanderlieder, in Der verliebte Reisende, no 1.Set by Hugo Wolf (1860-1903), “In der Fremde I”, 1881.Translation © Emily Ezust, Lied & Art Song Texts Page.

Da fahr’ ich still im Wagen


I travel silently in the coach -
you are so far from me -
but wherever it might take me,
I remain still with you.
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There fly by forests, gorges
and lovely deep valleys,
and larks high in the sky,
as if your voice were calling.
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The sun shines merrily
far beyond the area;
I am so happy and so tearful,
and I sing silently inside.
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From the mountains, the path goes downward,
the posthorn rings out below;
my soul grows so cheerful
and I greet you from the bottom of my heart.

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