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Four Songs for Women's Chorus with Two Horns and Harp
Song Cycle by Johannes Brahms (1833 - 1897)
View original-language texts alone: Vier Gesänge für Frauenchor mit zwei Hörner und Harfe
Please note that the final song is a translation from English.
Es tönt ein voller Harfenklang Den Lieb' und Sehnsucht schwellen, Er dringt zum Herzen tief und bang Und läßt das Auge quellen. O rinnet, Tränen, nur herab, O schlage Herz, mit Beben! Es sanken Lieb' und Glück ins Grab, Verloren ist das Leben!
The full sound of harps rings out, swelling one with love and yearning; it pierces one to the heart, deeply and anxiously, and leaves the eyes streaming. O run, my tears, stream down; o pound, my heart, and quiver! Love and Happiness are buried in the grave; lost is my life!
Text Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust
Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:
Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
from the LiederNet ArchiveFor any other purpose, please write to the e-mail address below to request permission and discuss possible fees.
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Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by Friedrich Ruperti (1805 - 1867), no title
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 8
Word count: 52
Komm herbey, komm herbey, Tod!
Und versenk' in Cypressen den Leib.
Laß mich frey, laß mich frey, Noth!
Mich erschlägt ein holdseliges Weib.
Mit Rosmarin mein Leichenhemd,
O bestellt es!
Ob Lieb' ans Herz mir tödtlich kömmt,
Treu' hält es.
Keine Blum', keine Blum' süß,
Sey gestreut auf den schwärzlichen Sarg.
Keine Seel', keine Seel', grüß'
Mein Gebein, wo die Erd' es verbarg.
Um Ach und Weh zu wenden ab,
Bergt alleine
Mich, wo kein Treuer wall' ans Grab,
Und weine.
Text Authorship:
- by August Wilhelm Schlegel (1767 - 1845), no title
Based on:
- a text in English by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), no title, appears in Twelfth Night: or, What You Will, Act II, scene 4
See other settings of this text.
Come hither, come hither, death!
And [sink my body into]1 cypresses,
Release me, release me, misery!
I am being slain by a lovely woman.
[My shroud, with rosemary,
Oh, trim it!
Though love may come fatally to my heart,
It shall keep faith.]2
No flower, no flower sweet
Be strewn upon my black coffin.
No soul, no soul is to greet
My bones, where the earth has concealed them.
To fend off doleful outcries,
[Hide me]3 solely there
Where no faithful one may [wander]4 to my grave
And weep.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2022 by Sharon Krebs, (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.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by August Wilhelm Schlegel (1767 - 1845), no title
Based on:
- a text in English by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), no title, appears in Twelfth Night: or, What You Will, Act II, scene 4
Go to the general single-text view
View original text (without footnotes)Translations of title(s):
"Aus was ihr wollt'" = "From "As You Like It"
"Des Narren Lied" = "The song of the fool"
"Komm herbei, komm herbei, Tod" = "Come hither, come hither, death!"
"Komm herbei Tod!" = "Come hither, death!"
"Lied des Narren" = "Song of the fool"
"Lied von Shakespeare" = "Song by Shakespeare"
"Süsser Tod" = "Sweet death"
"Zweites Lied des Narren" = "Second song of the fool"
2 Loewe: "My shroud, with yews, oh hasten! / My fatal lot, no faithful one has shared it."
3 Loewe: "Let me rest"
4 D'Alquen, Loewe: "come"
This text was added to the website: 2022-08-13
Line count: 16
Word count: 94
Wohin ich geh' und schaue, In Feld und Wald und Tal, Vom Berg hinab in die Aue; Viel schöne, hohe Fraue, Grüß ich dich tausendmal. In meinem Garten find' ich Viel Blumen, schön und fein, Viel Kränze wohl draus wind' ich Und tausend Gedanken bind' ich Und Grüße mit darein. Ihr darf ich keinen reichen, Sie ist zu hoch und schön, Die müssen alle verbleichen, Die Liebe nur ohnegleichen Bleibt ewig im Herzen stehn. Ich schein' wohl froher Dinge Und schaffe auf und ab, Und, ob das Herz zerspringe, Ich grabe fort und singe, Und grab' mir bald mein Grab.
Text Authorship:
- by Joseph Karl Benedikt, Freiherr von Eichendorff (1788 - 1857), "Der Gärtner", appears in Gedichte, in 4. Frühling und Liebe
See other settings of this text.
Wherever I go and look, in field and forest and plain, down the hill to the mead; most beautiful noble lady, I greet you a thousand times. In my garden I find many flowers, pretty and nice, many garlands I bind from them and a thousand thoughts and greetings I weave into them. Her I must not give one, she is too noble and fair; they all have to fade, only unequalled love stays in the heart forever. I seem to be of good cheer and work to and fro, and, though my heart bursts, I dig on and sing, and soon I dig my grave.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Jakob Kellner, (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.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by Joseph Karl Benedikt, Freiherr von Eichendorff (1788 - 1857), "Der Gärtner", appears in Gedichte, in 4. Frühling und Liebe
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 106
Wein' an den Felsen der brausenden Winde, Weine, o Mädchen von Inistore! Beug' über die Wogen Dein schönes Haupt, Lieblicher Du als der Geist der Berge, Wenn er um Mittag in einem Sonnenstrahl Ueber das Schweigen von Morven fährt. Er ist gefallen, Dein Jüngling liegt darnieder, Bleich sank er unter Cuthullins Schwert. Nimmer wird Muth deinen Liebling mehr reizen, Das Blut von Königen zu vergießen. Trenar, der liebliche Trenar starb, O Mädchen von Inistore! Seine grauen Hunde heulen daheim, Sie sehen seinen Geist vorüberziehn Sei Bogen hängt ungespannt in der Halle, Nichts regt sich auf der Haide der Rehe.
Text Authorship:
- by Eduard Brinckmeier (1811 - 1897), no title
Based on:
- a text in English by James Macpherson (pretending to translate "Ossian") (1736 - 1796), no title, appears in Fingal, Book I
Go to the general single-text view