Der gefangene Freischärler
Language: German (Deutsch)
Available translation(s): ENG
Was schaut ihr Kindlein traurig zu mir auf,
Und fragt, warum der Mutter Thränen rollen?
Hemmt nicht mit süßem Schmeicheln ihren Lauf
Der aus der Seele quillt, der schwerzvollen.
Der Vater, den wir lieben treu und rein,
Er weilt gefangen auf dem hohen Thurme,
Und lauscht durch sein vergittert Fensterlein
Dem fernen Schlachtendonner und dem Sturme.
Er kämpfte für die deutsche Republik –
Prophetisch sah sein Aug’ die Zukunft tragen;
Zur Freiheit hingewandt den kühnen Blick,
Nicht mocht’ er nach der Zahl der Feinde fragen.
Es färbt sein edles Blut den Boden roth;
Er sank; doch hielt die Hand noch die Muskete.
O darum nun verschont’ ihn früher Tod
Daß er des Kerkers öden Raum betrete.
Ihr stolzen Sieger! Ehrt den tapfren Feind
Der bis zum Tod getreu blieb seiner Fahne,
Deß Lippe nie mit falschen Wort verneint
Was still sein Herz beschloß im heil’gen Wahn.
Doch wir verhüllen wehmuthsvoll das Haupt,
Und harren stumm dem finstern Schicksalsspruche.
Noch grünt die Hoffnung! Weh, wenn sie entlaubt –
Dann wird die Welt, das Leben uns zum Fluche.
Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Anja Bunzel) , "The imprisoned voluntary soldier", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Anja Bunzel
This text was added to the website: 2014-07-25
Line count: 24
Word count: 176
The imprisoned voluntary soldier
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch)
Why, children, are you looking at me sadly,
And ask why the mother is crying?
Do not block with sweet words their path
Which springs from the aching soul.
The father, whom we love,
He is kept in the high tower,
He listens to the remote battle and the storms
Through his barred window.
He fought for the German republic –
His brilliant future on his mind;
Facing freedom,
He never asked about the number of his enemies.
His noble blood colours the ground;
He fell; but he kept the musket in his hand.
This is why he did not die early,
This is why he stepped into the dull prison cell.
Proud winners! Honour the brave enemy
Who never attempted desertion,
Whose lips never denied
What his heart decided in blessed insanity.
But we throw our hands up in horror,
And we wait quietly for the sentence of destiny.
There is still hope! Alack, once the hope is gone –
Then the world, the life will turn into a curse.
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2014 by Anja Bunzel, (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.
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Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2014-07-25
Line count: 24
Word count: 171