Robert Schumann
(1810-1856)
Christian Gerhaher, baritone
Gerold Huber, piano
Francisco de Sá de Miranda (1485-1558), translated by Emanuel Geibel (1815-1884)
When, when will the morning come,
when, when,
that will release my life from these bonds?
You my eyes, so clouded by sorrow,
saw only torment instead of love,
saw no joy;
saw only wounds upon wounds,
agony upon agony inflicted on me;
and in my long life,
not one cheerful hour.
If it would only finally happen
that the hour would arrive
when I could no longer see!
When will the morning come,
that will release my life from these bonds?
Joseph von Eichendorff (1788-1857)
2. 1. Away from Home ↑
From the direction of home, behind the red flashes of lightning
there come clouds,
but Father and Mother are long dead;
no one there knows me anymore.
How soon, ah, how soon will that quiet time come,
when I too shall rest, and over me
the beautiful forest‘s loneliness shall rustle,
and no one here shall know me anymore.
Your blissful, wonderful image
I have in my heart‘s depths;
it looks so freshly and joyously
at me in every moment.
My heart sings mutely to itself
an old, beautiful song
that soars into the air
and hastens to your side.
4. 3. Conversation in the Wood ↑
lt is already late, it is already cold;
why do you ride alone through the wood?
The wood is vast and you are alone,
you fair bride! I will lead you home.
“Great are the deceit and cunning of men;
my heart has broken for pain.
The forest horn strays here and there,
o flee! You do not know who I am.“
So richly decked are mount and lady,
so wondrously fair the young form;
now I recognize you—God stand by me!
You are the Witch Loreley.
“You recognize me well—from the lofty cliffs
my castle gazes down into the Rhine.
lt is already late, it is already cold—
you shall never again leave this wood.“
No one knows or guesses
how glad I am, so glad!
Alas, if only one could know it, just one—
no other soul should know it!
The snow outside is not so quiet—
nor as mute and silent
are the lofty stars,
compared with my thoughts.
I wish I were a little bird—
I would fly over the sea,
well across the sea and farther,
until I were in heaven!
It was as if the sky
had quietly kissed the earth,
so that in a shower of blossoms
she must only dream of him.
The breeze wafted through the fields,
the ears of corn waved gently,
the forests rustled faintly,
so sparkling clear was the night.
And my soul spread
its wings out wide,
flew through the still lands,
as if it were flying home.
7. 6. Beauteous Foreign Land ↑
The treetops rustle and shiver
as if at this hour
about the half-sunken walls
the old gods are making their rounds.
Here, behind the myrtle trees,
in secretly darkening splendor,
what do you say so murmuringly, as if in a dream,
to me, fantastic night?
The stars glitter down on me
with glowing, loving gazes,
and the distance speaks tipsily,
it seems, of great future happiness.
Asleep on his watch
up there is the old knight;
above move rainshowers,
and the wood rustles through the grill.
Beard and hair grown into one,
chest and ruff have turned to stone;
he sits for many hundreds of years
above in his silent den.
Outside it is quiet and peaceful:
all have taken to the valley;
woodbirds sing alone
in the empty arching windows.
A wedding passes by below
on the Rhine, in the sunlight:
musicians play gaily
and the fair bride—she weeps.
I hear the brooklets rushing
here and there in the wood.
In the wood, amidst the rushing,
I know not where I am.
The nightingales sing
here in the solitude,
as if they wanted to speak
of fine old times.
The moonbeams dart
and I seem to see below me
a castle lying in the valley—
yet it is so far from here!
lt seems as if, in the garden
full of roses white and red,
my sweetheart were waiting for me—
yet she is long since dead.
Sometimes I can sing
as if I were happy,
but secretly tears well up
and free my heart.
The nightingales,
when spring breezes play, let
their songs of yearning resound
from the depths of their dungeons.
Then all hearts listen
and everyone rejoices;
yet no one truly feels the anguish
of the song‘s deep sorrow.
Dusk prepares to spread its wings,
the trees rustle ominously,
clouds approach like heavy dreams—
what does this horror mean?
If you have a favorite roe,
don‘t let it graze alone;
hunters roam the forest, sounding their horns,
their voices straying time and again.
If you have a friend on earth,
do not trust him in this hour;
friendly might he seem in eye and mouth,
yet he plans for war in deceitful peace.
What today goes wearily down,
will lift itself tomorrow newly born.
Much goes astray at night—
Beware—be alert and wide awake!
Beside the mountain there passed a wedding party.
I heard the birds singing;
then there blazed past many horsemen, their forest horns sounding.
That was a merry hunt!
And before I could think about it, everything had died away
and the night threw a cloak all around.
Only from the mountains did the woods yet rustle,
and deep in my heart I shudder.
Above the garden and across the sky
I heard migrating birds passing;
that meant that spring was in the air;
below, things are already beginning to bloom.
I could rejoice, I could weep—
I feel as though it cannot be!
Old wonders appear again
with the moonlight.
And the moon and stars say it,
and in a dream the grove murmurs it,
and the nightingales sing it:
she is yours! She is yours!
Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875), translated by Adelbert von Chamisso (1781-1838)
14. March Violets ↑
The heavens arch above, pure and blue,
and frost exhibits flowers.
The window is sparkling with shimmering bloom.
A young man is standing in front, gazing intently.
And behind the flowers there blossoms
a pair of laughing blue eyes.
March violets, like nothing ever seen before!
The frost will dissolve with one breath!
Frosted flowers now begin to melt,
and God have mercy upon this young man.
The mother prays sweetly
and gazes with delight upon her slumbering little one.
He rests in his cradle, so tender and cosy.
He must seem an angel to her.
She kisses him and hugs him, she cannot restrain herself.
Forgetting all earthly pain,
her hopeful dreams wander into the future.
Thus do mothers often dream.
The raven meanwhile, with its clan,
shrieks a tune outside the window:
Your angel will be ours—
the brigand shall serve us at supper.
He walks to the sound of a muffled drum;
how far the place!—how long the way!
O if only he were at rest and everything past already!
I think it will break my heart in two!
I loved only hirn in the world—
only him, whom they are now putting to death!
To the band they parade;
for this task I am also ordered.
Now he gazes for the last time
up at the joyous sunbeams of God‘s sun;
now they blindfold his eyes—
may God grant you eternal peace!
The nine then took aim:
eight bullets shot wide.
They trembled, all full of misery and pain—
but I, I shot him right through the heart.
In the little town there is much festivity:
they are holding a wedding there with dance and play.
To the happy man, the wine sparkles so red;
but the bride looks like whitewashed death.
Yes, dead she is to him whom she cannot forget;
he is at the feast but not as the bridegroom.
He stands among the guests at the inn,
stroking his fiddle cheerily enough.
He strokes his fiddle, his hair turning grey.
The strings resound: shrill and loud;
he presses it to his heart, paying no heed
whether it breaks into a thousand pieces.
lt is quite hideous when one dies this way,
his heart young and still striving for joy.
I cannot and will not watch any longer!
lt will make my head spin.
Who are you, with your fingers pointing at me?
O God, spare us in your mercy,
that non of us be taken by madness.
I myself am a poor musician.
Claudes Charles Fauriel (1772-1844), after an anonymous greek poem
That night we kissed each other, o maiden,
no one was observing us.
The stars, which stood in the sky—
we confided only in those stars.
lt was one star that fell,
and accused us to the sea;
then the sea told it to a rudder,
and the rudder told it to a sailor.
That same sailor sang it
to his sweetheart.
Now, on the streets and in the market,
the boys and girls sing of it in chorus.
Six Lieder to poems by a painter, op. 40 ↑
Robert
Reinick (1805-1852)
19. 1. Sunday on the Rhine ↑
On Sundays in the morning hours,
how pleasant it is to wander
along the Rhine, when all around
the morning bells are chiming!
A little ship floats by on the blue water,
with singing and jubilation on board;
you little ship, say, isn‘t it good to travel
with such merriment?
From the village echoes the tones of the organ,
intoning its pious song;
devoutly there the procession
moves out from the chapel.
And solemnly in all its splendor
the castle gazes down
and speaks of the good old days
when it was built upon the cliff.
All of this the splendid Rhine hoards
upon its viny shore,
and in the bright sunshine it reflects
the whole of our fatherland,
the pious, true fatherland
in all its full glory,
with joy and songs all around,
contemplated by beloved God.
Come to me in the silent night!
My dear, what makes you hesitate?
The sun has long since gone to rest,
the world has closed its eyes,
around us only Love is awake!
My dear, what makes you hesitate?
Already the stars are bright,
already the moon is in its place,
hurrying quickly, so quickly!
My dear, ah my dear, you must also therefore hurry!
Love alone is awake,
calling to you above all others.
Hear the nightingale,
hear my voice‘s call;
my dear, o come to me in the silent night!
When I first beheld you,
how lovely you were, how fair,
I would have never thought
there could be anything lovelier
than to gaze
into your dear eyes for eternity.
I gazed at them so long,
until you became my bride;
and again I would have never thought
there could be anything lovelier
than to kiss
your red mouth at any hour.
I kissed them so long,
until you were my wife;
and now I can be certain
that there can be nothing lovelier
than to be with one‘s lovely wife
just as in one body and one soul.
O sunshine, o sunshine!
How you shine into my heart,
awakening in it such a pure joy in love
that my chest soon feels too narrow!
And narrow grows my room and house,
and when I run out to the gate,
I see you tempt to the fresh green
even the fairest maidens!
O sunshine, do you well believe
that I should do just as you do,
and kiss each attractive flower,
that blooms just for you?
You have watched the world for a long time
and you know that, for me, that is not right;
why then do you cause me such pain?
O sunshine, o sunshine!
And again I had thought of that loveliest woman,
whom I have only seen in dreams before;
it drove me outside into the bright night,
and I had to walk through the silent grounds.
Suddenly the valley shone,
eerily as if it were a hall of ghosts.
There rushed together lilce a dance melody
the streaming wind, with a clangour and a hiss;
it blew in a hasty procession
from the cliffs and valleys, from the waves and the bushes,
and in the moonlight, there was a white wreath
where the elves were dancing a round dance.
And in the middle of their circle was a light, airy woman,
who was their queen, and I heard her singing:
Leave this heavy earthly body,
leave these foolish earthly things!
Only in moonlight is Life itself!
Only in floating dreams is eternal existence!
I am she whom you often see in dreams;
I am she, the beloved of whom you often sing;
I am she, the queen of the elves.
You wanted to see me: your wish has been granted.
Now you shall be mine for eternity.
Come, come with me in the Elven Order!“
Already approaching, already flying around me,
the morning breeze is blowing and I am recovering.
Go away now, you elven queen;
now 1 will choose a different love—
without deceit and illusion and with a pure heart;
certainly there is one to be found for me.
Clouds that hurry toward the East,
where the one who‘s mine is waiting,
all my wishes, my hopes and songs
shall fly with you on your wings,
shall steer you, hurrying ones, to her
so that my chaste love
shall think of me with loyal love.
Sing morning dreams to her still,
float gently in the garden,
sink like dew into the shadowy room,
strew pearls upon the flowers and trees
so that to that wonderful being, if she passes by,
all the merry blossoms
shall open with even brighter splendor.
And in the evening, in the silent calm,
spread the sinking sun‘s light upon her!
lt shall paint you purple and gold;
and in the sea, bright with glow and sunbeams,
the little ship plies its way,
so that she believes singing angels
are preserving her.
Yes, it may well be angels,
if my heart were pure like hers;
All my wishes, my hopes and songs
are drawn there on your wings,
are steered there by you, hurrying ones,
to my chaste love,
so that I alone may think of her.
Gesänge der Harfners from op. 98a ↑
Johann
Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)
25. He who never ate his bread with tears ↑
He who never ate his bread with tears,
he who never, through miserable nights,
sat weeping on his bed—
he does not know you, Heavenly Powers.
You lead us into life,
you let the wretched man feel guilt,
and then you leave him to his pain-
for all guilt avenges itself on earth.
26. He who gives himself over to solitude ↑
He who gives himself over to solitude,
ah! he is soon alone;
everyone lives, everyone loves,
and everyone leaves him to his pain.
Yes! Leave me to my torment!
And can I only once
be truly lonely,
then I will not be alone.
A lover creeps up and listens softly—
is his beloved alone?
So, both day and night, does
the pain creeps up on my solitude,
and the torment creep up on my loneliness.
Ah! only once, when
I am alone in my grave,
will it then truly leave me alone!
27. I will creep from door to door ↑
I will creep from door to door;
quiet and humble will I stand.
A pious hand will give me food,
and I shall go on my way.
Everyone will think himself lucky
when he sees me before him;
a tear will he shed,
but I won‘t know why he weeps.
28. Deep in my heart I bear suffering, op. 138/2 ↑
Luíz Vaz de Camões (1524?-1580), translated by Emanuel Geibel (1815-1884)
Deep in my heart I bear suffering,
outwardly I must be silent.
The cherished pain I hide
deep from the world‘s sight;
and only the soul feels it,
since the body deserves it not.
As the spark, free and bright,
hides itself in the flint,
I bear my suffering deep within.
Joseph von Eichendorff (1788-1857)
Come, comfort of the world, you still night!
How softly you climb from the hills!
The breezes are all sleeping,
only one sailor still, weary with travel,
sings across the sea an evening song
to praise God from the harbor.
The years go by like clouds
and leave me standing here alone;
the world has forgotten me.
Then amazingly, you came to me
when I was here by the rustling wood,
sitting lost in thought.
O comfort of the world, you still night!
The day has made me so weary;
the wide sea is darkening already.
Let me rest from joy and suffering
until the eternal dawn
illuminates the still wood throughout.
English translation copyright © by Emily Ezust
(1.-27., 29.),
and copyright © by Eric Sams (28.)
from The Lied and Art Song Texts Page: www.recmusic.org