English translations of Drei Lieder, opus 13

A shepherd sat in the greenery,
  His arm sweetly about his beloved;
  Through the treetops shone
  The sunbeams warmly.
 
[He caressed her]1 joyfully and merrily
  In the dalliance of love;
  Then an armoured horseman rode
  Past the happy ones.
 
"Dismount and seek coolness!"
  The shepherd called to him.
  "The approaching sultriness of noontime
  Commands one to take quiet rest.
 
Still laughing in the glow of morning
  Are bush and flower here,
  And my darling shall pick for you
  The [freshest]2 blossoms to weave into a wreath."
 
Thereupon the sombre rider spoke:
  "Never could forest and meadow detain me.
  I am driven onward by my fate,
  And, ah, by my solemn oath!
 
I traded my young life
  Away for idle filthy lucre;
  I cannot strive for happiness,
  Only at the most for fame and gold.
 
Therefore make haste, my steed, and tramp
  Past there where flowers bloom;
  Someday rest in the grave shall
  Reward the efforts of the warrior."

Mild breezes,
The scent of flowers,
All the joy of spring and youth,
Fresh lips,
Swift kisses,
Being gently cradled at a tender bosom;
Then the grape's
nectar is stolen,
Round dances and games and jokes:
Whatever the senses
can gather:
Ah, will it ever fulfill the heart?

When wet
eyes gleam
from the gentle dew of melancholy,
then unsealed,
and therein mirrored,
is a glimpse of Heaven's field.
How joyfully,
in an instant,
is extinguished every wild passion;				
just as from the rain
flowers are nurtured,
so are dull spirits lifted.

Not with sweet
river water
did Prometheus form our clay.
No, with tears;
That is why in longing
and in pain we are at home.
Bitterly do 
These streams rise
(to our earthly senses),
but they press
out of the narrows
into the sea of love.

[God's] eternal longing
flowed in tears
and surrounded the numb world,	
which, held in His arms,
His mercy
Forever encompasses.
If your being
is ever then to be freed
from the dust of Earth,
You must in weeping
unite yourself
with the waters of the divine womb.

Up on the high mountain ridge,
where everything is fresh and green,
looking down upon the land
through dissipating mists
pleases the alpine hunter.

The more steeply and slanting
the paths wind themselves,
the more dangerously yawns the gorge,
the more freely beats his heart.
Of his distant sweetheart,
who remains behind at home,
he thinks more blissfully.

And once he has reached his goal,
in the stillness presses
a sweet image before him;
the golden rays of the sun
weave and paint before him
she whom he has chosen, back in the valley.