English translations of Sechs Lieder für gemischten Chor (Humoristische Gesänge 3. Folge), opus 15

  The silver horn hung in the sky,
And gentle May breezes blew.
Hans sat at the forest stream
And embraced his Grete.
The colourful bird-folk slept,
No eavesdropper was amongst them,
The old fir trees were deep in dreams,
Only the stream was awake,
And, laughing merrily, the waters sang:
"Hansel is fond of Gretel."

  After a little while the forest stream
Came flowing up to the Golden Star.
There, the tavernkeeper said with cunning guile:
"Hey, brooklet, welcome!"
And unabashedly immediately poured 
The stream's water into the wine keg.
Thus the recent news from the forest
Came to the ears of the thirsty ones.
Thereupon they murmered in the Golden Star:
"Hansel is fond of Gretel."

  Gretel wished Hansel a good night
And left him alone;
And since kissing makes one thirsty,
Hans took himself off to drink wine.
He sat at the foot of the tavern table
And drank in deep draughts;
The throng surged forward around him
With freshly-filled jugs,
They clinked their glasses and called loudly:
"A toast to Hansel and his fiancée!"

The dear snowdrops
Arise from the melting ice
And shake their little skirts,
Half green and half white.
The oaks are creaking,
Freed, the brook flows,
Coldness wishes to depart,
Spring awakes!

Mother Sibyl
Opens the sliding window
And, through her glasses,
She gazes up toward the gable.
Two little cats who are in love
Creep over the roof,
Coldness wishes to depart,
Spring awakes!

Who comes dancing along there
Wearing decorations on her shoes?
There is a tripping and a wagging
And a giggling at me.
A prophetic sign,
Heartened I follow,
Coldness wishes to depart,
Spring awakes!

  In my hometown there once was
An old bird-catcher,
With thread and bird-lime he caught
The colourful singers of the forest.
He gave them worms to eat
And delicate ants’ eggs
And schooled their voice and ear
With a hurdy-gurdy.

  The young blackbird was his pride and joy,
The queen of all the singers;
Hungry, in the woods, she had
Gotten caught in a snare.
She sang, "Hail to you in the victor's wreath"
And "Tomorrow I must depart",
"We twine the maiden-wreath for you"
And "Little rose upon the heath".

  Master, take care!  The little door is agape,
And outdoors the sun is shining.
Before you know it, from her prison escapes
The clever prima donna.
She left the full feed trough,
The master and the hurdy gurdy,
She spread her little winds and flew
To the alder shrub by the pond.

  The blackbird sits in the alder hedge
And sings the old lay
That Adam already heard on 
The first day in paradise.
Unless she has died, she still sings
Her free song today. --
And the moral of the story
You people may figure out for yourselves.

The young bird who, ready to fly,
Leaves his nest for the first time
To try out its little wings,
The bullfinch and the nightingale,
The sparrow, the starling, they all strive
        Upward.

The flame that does my cooking and frying,
The blue smoke that wafts aromatically
From the bowl of my pipe,
The wine even, be it heavy or light,
Warming and delighting one, rises
        Upward.

When our terrestrial globe was completed
And when the bright host of angels
Began to praise the work,
God spoke: "I did it well",
And surveyed the splendour of His earth
        From on high.

Therefore, if you would find joy in looking at the world,
It would be best to do so from above.
Rouse yourself briskly, lift your feet!
Let the inkwell and the books rest
And in your hobnailed boots climb
        Upward.

May is standing upon the green hill,
The merry comrade,
Wishes to hold a symphony
With his court orchestra.
    With vigour he waves
    A green sprig
With rosy red blossoms;
    The meadow is 
    The musical score,
The flowers are the musical notes.
  
Come hither, come hither, ye singers all
And seat yourselves around the well.
Madame Lark and Madame Nightingale --
Those are the prima donnas.
    The yellowhammer,
    The goldfinch
They sing in duet,
    The sparrow in the reeds
    Strengthens the choir
And plays the clarinet.

The finch, the chap who is rich in songs,
The siskin must not be absent,
And because the owl cannot sing
He must count the rests.
    The cuckoo screams
    And in the cornfield
The partridge and the quail,
    The woodpecker,
    The servant of the hunters, pounds out
The quarter notes and the eighth notes.

And everything that walks upon six legs
Also no longer wishes to remain silent.
The locust plays the dulcimer,
The merry crickets fiddle.
    Delicately,
    After the fashion of harps,
Hum the bee and bumble bee,
    The brown June-bug
    Blows the trombone,
The rhinoceros beetle beats the drum.

And now the stags as well begin
To roar in the fir forest,
The cow upon the green meadow
Lets her voice be heard,
    Along with that of the goat
    And white lambs
And colourfully spotted calves.
    I do not know
    What is happening to me,
I believe I shall sing myself.

Now I whistle [yet a second piece]1
And give it to the quick winds:
At the moment I have no love,
But I think I'll find one yet.
When the primrose blooms and the violet,
And I did not have a beloved in my arms,
That I could never forgive
             May.

May is an arithmetician,
No other is as diligent.
It adds: one and one make two,
But never gets on any further than that.
Therefore in the month of blossoms
One sees creation only in pairs.
[Creation] dances the marriage roundelay
             In May.

Oh dear May, I beg of you
In your green temple:
Do not walk past -- make of me
An addition exercise!
Send me a maiden slender and young --
The loveliest is good enough for me --
Then as a twosome we shall praise
             May.