Evening Thoughts

It is evening, the sun has vanished,
And the moon sheds its silver light;
So life’s sweetest hours speed by,
Flit by as in a dance!

Soon life’s bright pageant will be over,
And the curtain will fall.
Our play is ended! Tears wept by a friend
Flow already on our grave.

Soon perhaps, like a gentle zephyr,
A silent presentiment will reach me,
And I shall end this earthly pilgrimage,
Fly to the land of rest.

If you then weep by my grave
And gaze mourning on my ashes,
Then, dear friends, I shall appear to you
Bringing a breath of heaven.

May you too shed a tear for me
And pluck a violet for my grave;
And let your compassionate gaze
Look tenderly down on me.

Consecrate a tear to me and ah!
Be not ashamed to do so;
In my diadem it shall become
The fairest pearl of all.

Translation (c) Richard Stokes, author of: The Book of Lieder (Faber); The Complete Songs of Hugo Wolf (Faber), provided via Oxford International Song Festival (www.oxfordsong.org)

In spring

I am sitting quietly on the hillside,
The sky is so clear,
The breezes are playing in the green valley,
Where, with the first ray of spring sunshine, I
Was once, alas, so happy;

Where I walked by her side
So intimate and so close,
And deep in the dark spring amongst the rocks
I saw the beautiful sky, blue and bright,
And I saw her in the heavens.

Notice how the colourful springtime is already
Looking out of the buds and blossoms!
Not all the blossoms are the same to me,
I would prefer to pick from the branch
From which she picked.

For everything is still how it was then,
The flowers, the fields;
The sun is shining no less brightly,
You can see, no less friendly, swimming in the spring
The blue image of the heavens.

Desire and delusion are subject to change,
Pleasure and conflict change;
Love’s happiness flies off,
And only love remains behind,
Love, and, alas, suffering!

Oh, if only I were a little bird
Over there on that sloping meadow,
Then I would remain on this branch here
And sing a sweet song about her
For the whole of the summer.

Malcolm Wren, schubertsong.uk

Relentless love

Snow, rain,
Wind: facing up to them all.
In the steam of gorges,
Through the scent of mist.
Keep on! Keep on!
Without stopping and without rest!

I would rather use suffering
To beat myself,
Than bear so many of the joys
Of life like this!
All of this subjugation
Of heart to heart,
Oh, how strangely
Agony is created!

How should I escape?
Should I go towards the woods?
It is all pointless!
Crown of life,
Bliss without peace –
Love, that is what you are!

Malcolm Wren, schubertsong.uk

East wind

What does this movement mean?
Is the Easterly wind bringing me a joyful message?
The fresh stirring of its wings
Cools the deep wounds in my heart.

As it caresses it is playing with the dust,
It chases it up to make small, light clouds,
It drives insects towards the secure foliage of the vine –
A joyful little population of insects.

It gently soothes the glow of the sun,
It also cools my hot cheeks for me,
And as it passes by it even kisses the vines,
Which are resplendent on the fields and hills.

And its gentle whisper brings me
A thousand greetings from my friend;
Even before these hills grow dark
As many as a thousand kisses are going to greet me.

And so you can travel on further!
Offer your services to friends and those who are distressed.
There where high walls are glowing,
That is where I shall soon find the one I love so much.

Oh, the true message from the heart,
The breath of love, refreshed life
Will only come to me from his mouth,
Only his breath can give it to me.

Malcolm Wren, schubertsong.uk

We were walking

We were walking, we two together;
I so silent and you so silent;
I would give much to know
What you were thinking then.

What was I thinking—let it remain
Unspoken! One thing only I shall say:
All my thoughts were so beautiful,
So heavenly and serene.

The thoughts in my mind
Chimed like golden bells:
So wondrously sweet and lovely
Is no other sound on earth.

Translation (c) Richard Stokes, author of: The Book of Lieder (Faber); The Complete Songs of Hugo Wolf (Faber), provided via Oxford International Song Festival (www.oxfordsong.org)

In the Churchyard

The day was heavy with rain and storms,
I had stood by many a forgotten grave.
Weathered stones and crosses, faded wreaths,
The names overgrown, scarcely to be read.

The day was heavy with storms and rains,
On each grave froze the word: Deceased.
How the coffins slumbered, dead to the storm—
Silent dew on each grave proclaimed: Released.

Translation (c) Richard Stokes, author of: The Book of Lieder (Faber); The Complete Songs of Hugo Wolf (Faber), provided via Oxford International Song Festival (www.oxfordsong.org)

Death

Oh, death it is the cold, cold night, And life it is the sultry day; It is growing dusk, I am drowsy-- The long, long day has tired me quite. Over my bed there arches a tree; There sings the early nightingale-- She sings of love the whole night long; Her song comes even in my dreams

Translation Poems and Ballads by Heinrich Heine done into English verse by Theodore Martin, C.B., Edinburgh and London: William Blackwood and Sons, MDCCCLXXVII (1877), page 181.

Sunday

This whole week, I have not Seen my delicate sweetheart. I saw her on Sunday, Standing in front of the door: That thousand-times beautiful girl, That thousand-times beautiful heart, Would, God, I were with her today! This whole week, my laughing Has not ceased; I saw her on Sunday, Going to church: That thousand-times beautiful girl, That thousand-times beautiful heart, Would, God, I were with her today!

Emily Ezust, lieder.net

Message

(Blow, Breeze, Gently on the Head)

Blow, Breeze, gently and lovingly about the cheeks of my beloved; play tenderly in her locks, do not hasten to flee far away ! If perhaps she is then to ask, how it stands with poor wretched me, tell her: "Unending was his woe, highly dubious was his condition; However, now he can hope magnificently to come to life again. For you, lovely one, are thinking of him!"

Emily Ezust, lieder.net

The shepherd on the cliff

When I stand on the highest cliff
I look down into the deep valley
And sing,

Far away out of the deep dark valley
There soars up an echo
From the ravines,

The further my voice reaches
The brighter it resounds to me
From below.

My beloved lives so far from me,
So I feel such hot longing for her
Over there!

I am eating myself up in deepest sorrow,
Joy has abandoned me!
There is no hope left for me on earth,
I am so lonely here!

The song rang out in the forest with such longing,
It rang out with such longing through the night;
It draws hearts towards heaven
With an amazing power.

Spring is going to come,
Spring, my joy!
I shall now prepare myself
So that I am ready to travel.

Malcolm Wren, schubertsong.uk