Attention! Some of this material is not in the public domain.
It is illegal to copy and distribute our copyright-protected material without permission. It is also illegal to reprint copyright texts or translations without the name of the author or translator.
To inquire about permissions and rates, contact Emily Ezust at licenses@email.lieder.example.net
If you wish to reprint translations, please make sure you include the names of the translators in your email. They are below each translation.
Note: You must use the copyright symbol © when you reprint copyright-protected material.
Die Lieder, die mir unter Schmerz und Lust Aus jugendlichem Busen sich befreit, Nachklangen wohl, ich bin es mir bewußt, In derer Herzen, denen sie geweiht; Sei still, mein Herz, und trage den Verlust, Sie klangen, sie verhallten in der Zeit; Mein Lieben und mein Leben sind verhallt Mit meinen Liedern, um mich ist es kalt. Das Leben hat, der Tod hat mich beraubt, Es fallen Freunde, sterben von mir ab, Es senkt sich tief und tiefer schon mein Haupt, Ich setze träumend weiter meinen Stab, Und wanke, müder, als wohl mancher glaubt, Entgegen meinem Ziele, meinem Grab. Es gibt des Kornes wenig, viel der Spreu: Ich pflückte Blumen, sammelte nur Heu. Das tat ich sonst, das tu ich annoch heute, Ich pflücke Blumen und ich sammle Heu; Botanisieren nennen das die Leute, Und anders es zu nennen trag ich Scheu; So schweift das Menschenkind nach trockner Beute Das Leben und die Welt hindurch, die Reu' Ereilet ihn, und, wie er rückwärts schaut, Der Abend sinkt, das Haar ist schon ergraut. So, Bruder, schaudert's mich auf irrer Bahn, Wann düstre Nebel ruhn auf trübem Meer; Beeiste Felsen ruf' ich liebend an, Die kalten Massen widerhallen leer; Ich bin in Sprach und Leben ja der Mann, Der jede Sylbe wäget falsch und schwer; Ich kehre heim, so wie ich ausgegangen, Ein Kind, vom greisen Alter schon umfangen. Wann erst der Palme luft'ge Krone wieder In tiefer Bläue schlankgetragen ruht, Aus heitrer Höh' die mächt'ge Sonne nieder Zur wonn'gen Erde schaut in reiner Glut, Dann schmiegen sich durchwärmt die starren Glieder Und minder schwer zum Herzen fließt das Blut, Dann möchten auch die düstern Träume weichen, Und ich die Hand dir sonder Klage reichen.
About the headline (FAQ)
Authorship:
- by Adelbert von Chamisso (1781 - 1838), "Aus der Beeringstraße", written 1816 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Corliss Kimmel , "Aus der Beeringsstraße im Sommer 1816" [voice, piano, and french horn (or voice and chamber orchestra)], from The voyage of the Rurik, no. 1. [text verified 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , title 1: "From the Bering Strait", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , title 1: "Du détroit de Behring", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor]
This text was added to the website: 2008-05-19
Line count: 40
Word count: 282
The songs, that amidst pain and joy, Flowed forth freely from my youthful breast, They echoed on, I feel it, In the hearts of those to whom they were dedicated; Be still, my heart, and bear the loss, They rang out, they died away in time; My loving and my life have died away With my songs; around me it is cold. Life has, death has robbed me, Friends leave me, [or] they die, Already my head droops low and lower, Dreamily I set my staff upon my onward journey, And totter, more tired than people would believe, Toward my goal, my grave. There is little wheat, [but] much chaff: I picked flowers, [but] gathered only hay. That which was my wont to do, I do it still today, I pick flowers and I gather hay; People call it the pursuit of botany, And I am loath to call it anything else; Thus roves a human [searching] for dry booty Through life and through the world, Rue catches up with him, and as he looks back, Evening is falling, his hair is already grey. Thus, brother, I shudder on my mad pathway When gloomy fogs rest on the murky ocean; I call lovingly to ice-covered rocks, The cold masses echo back emptily; In language and in life I am the man Who weighs every syllable if it be false or heavy; I return home as I departed, A child, already ensnared by old age. When once again the fluttering crown of the palm tree Rests in the deep blue, borne aloft by a slender trunk, [When] from the bright heights the mighty sun gazes Down upon the joyful earth in a pure blaze, Then shall my stiff limbs, warmed-through, become supple And my blood shall flow to my heart less sluggishly, Then perhaps shall the darksome dreams pass away And I shall be able to give you my hand without lamenting.
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2011 by Sharon Krebs, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by Adelbert von Chamisso (1781 - 1838), "Aus der Beeringstraße", written 1816
This text was added to the website: 2011-03-10
Line count: 40
Word count: 321