Category Archives: Wilhelm Müller


W. Müller: “The Huntsman’s Joy”

Excerpt, “The Book of German Songs from the Sixteenth to the Nineteenth Century.” Translated and Edited by H. W. Dulcken. 1856.

hunting song2

THE HUNTSMAN’S JOY

Long live on earth whatever
The mantle green doth grace ;
The woodland and the meadow,
The huntsman and the chase !
‘Tis merry in the greenwood,
Where stag and hind do spring ;
When loudly sounds the bugle,
When rifles flash and ring.
Trara ! Trara !

What though with swarthy powder
I’ve scorched my eyelid o’er ?
I care not, for my maiden
Will love me as before.
My pointer and my maiden
Are ever true to me ;
What need have I to care, then,
For world or vanity ?
Trara ! Trara !

In woods am I the monarch,—
The wood is God’s abode !
I hear his mighty breathing
For ever borne abroad.
And I will be a huntsman
So long the breeze doth blow ;
And I will kiss my maiden
So long her lips do glow.
Trara ! Trara !

Come to the free wild forest,
My child, and dwell with me ;
Of boughs that never wither
I’ll build a hut for thee !
Not in the cold, gray village,
A resting-place I’ll crave ;
The wildwood is my dwelling,
And there shall be my grave !
Trara ! Trara !

Wilhelm Müller: “On the Rhine is My Heart”

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

rhine

ON THE RHINE IS MY HEART

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On the Rhine is my heart, where affection holds sway!

On the Rhine is my heart, where encradled I lay,

Where around me friends bloom,

where I dreamt away youth,

Where the heart of my love glows with rapture and truth,

O where I have revelled in song and in wine:

Wherever I go is my heart on the Rhine!

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All hail, thou broad torrent, so golden and green,

Ye castles and churches, ye hamlets serene,

Ye cornfields that wave in the breeze as it sweeps,

Ye forests and ravines, ye towering steeps,

Ye mountains e’er clad in the sun-illumed vine!

Wherever I go is my heart on the Rhine!

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I greet thee, O life, with a yearning so strong,

In the maze of the dance, o’er the goblet and song,

All hail, belov’d race, men so honest and true,

And maids who speak raptures with eyes of bright blue!

May success round your brows e’er its garlands entwine!

Wherever I go is my heart on the Rhine!

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On the Rhine is my heart, where affection holds sway!

On the Rhine is my heart, where encradled I lay,

Where around me friends bloom,

where I dreamt away youth,

Where the heart of my love glows with rapture and truth!

May for me your hearts e’er the same jewels enshrine!

Wherever I go is my heart on the Rhine!

 

 

Müller: “The Sunken City”

Excerpt, “A Book of Ballads from the German.”

Translated by Percy Boyd, Esq.  1848..sunk3

 

Wilhelm Müller: “Whither”

Excerpt, “The Poets and Poetry of Europe.” 1857. Translation by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Wilhelm Müller was born October 7, 1794 at Dessau. In 1812, he began his studies at Berlin, devoting himself primarily to history and philology. The Liberation War of 1813 interrupted his studies, and he was present, as a volunteer, in the Battles of Lützen, Bautzen, Hanau, and Culm. He resumed his studies in 1814. In 1819, he traveled to Italy, and, on his return, published his observations on Rome. He then became a teacher in the Gymnasium at Dessau, Court Councillor and Librarian. He died October 27, 1827. His works are, “Poems from the Papers of a Traveling Player on the Bugle-horn,” two volumes, 1824; “Songs of the Greeks,” 1821; “Lyrical Walks,” 1827. He also published a valuable collection of the poets of the 17th Century, ten volumes, Leipsic, 1822-27; and a translation Fauriel’s “Modern Greek Popular Songs.” His poems were edited by Schwab, Leipsic, 1837, who also wrote his life. (Beloved author of “Die schöne Müllerin” and “Winterreise,” among others.)

 

WHITHER

 

I heard a brooklet gushing

From its rocky fountain near,

Down into the valley rushing,

So fresh and wondrous clear.

 

I know not what came o’er me,

Nor who the counsel gave;

But I must hasten downward,

All with my pilgrim-stave;

 

Downward, and ever father,

And ever the brook beside;

And ever fresher murmured,

And ever clearer, the tide.

 

Is this the way I was going?

Whither, O brooklet, say!

Thou hast, with thy soft murmur,

Murmured my senses away.

 

What do I say of a murmur?

That can no murmur be;

‘Tis the water-nymphs, that are singing

Their roundelays under me.

 

Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur,

And wander merrily near;

The wheels of a mill are going

In every brooklet clear.

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