Songs, Op. 2, B123 - B124 | Text

translation: David Beveridge

You ardent songs, go forth through the night

You ardent songs, go forth

through the night into the misty space;

give greetings to all

who are burdened by silent woe!

Go thither across the dales

where my beloved woman dwells,

and tell her what pains me,

and why you fly to her!

And if she weeps with you,

bring me back those tidings;

otherwise may the wind

blow you about the valleys!

Oh, it was a lovely, golden dream

Oh, it was a lovely, golden dream

that we dreamed there together!

What a shame, that gracious dream

was only so short!

Such sweet longing took root

in my whole being,

until upon parting

a tear of woe arrived.

And often I go up the mountain

and look for you,

but all along the far horizon

only my woe do I sow.

Around the house now I stagger

Around the house now I stagger

where you used to live,

and from the wound of love I bleed,

of that love sweet, deceitful!

And with a sad eye I watch

whether you step toward me:

and toward you my arms I open,

but a tear I feel in my eye!

Oh where are you, dear one, where are you today?

Won’t you come toward me?

Am I not, with delight and joy in my heart,

to behold you ever again?

Oh, that longed-for happiness does not bloom for our love

Oh, that longed-for happiness

does not bloom for our love;

and if it would bloom, in this world

it would not bloom for long.

Why would a tear

steal into fiery kisses?

Why would you embrace me

in your full love with anxiety?

Oh, bitter is that parting

where hope does not beckon:

the heart then feels, trembling,

that soon in misery it will die.

On the mountains quiet

On the mountains quiet and in the valley quiet:

nature dozes with a sweet dream.

And through the air floats a mysterious breeze;

in the forest the tree trunks whisper to each other.

And the forests murmur into the bluish space,

when breathes a breeze upon a leaf,

murmur and murmur on and on;

with the murmuring comes so many a dream!

My heart often broods in pain

My heart often broods in pain,

gloomily:

'Oh, that this love has so much pain

and so many thorns?

This love passes like a dream,

so beautiful, gracious,

and in but a moment

the grave mound will bury it!

And on the grave a stone placed,

above which a linden keeps watch.

And on the stone the inscription written:

Here a broken heart sleeps!'