Du Thurm! zu meinem Leide
Ragst du so hoch empor,
Und mahnest grausam immer
An [sie, die]1 ich verlor.

Sie hängt an einem Andern,
Und wohnt im Weiler dort.
Mein armes Herz verblutet,
Vom schärfsten Pfeil durchbohrt.

In ihren [braunen]2 Augen
War keiner Untreu Spur;
[Aus ihnen sprachen Liebe
Und holde Anmuth]3 nur.

Wohin ich [nun mich]4 wende -
Der Thurm, er folget mir;
O sagt' er, statt der Stunden,
Was mich vernichtet, ihr!

View text without footnotes

Confirmed with Gedichte von Johann Mayrhofer. Wien. Bey Friedrich Volke. 1824, page 11.

Note: Schubert received Mayrhofer's texts generally in handwriting; the printed edition of Mayrhofer's poems appeared much later and presents the texts usually in a revised version.

¹ Schubert: "das, was"
² Schubert: "schönen"
³ Schubert: "Ich sah der Liebe Himmel, / Der Anmut Spiegel"
⁴ Schubert: "mich nun"

Text Authorship:

• by Johann Baptist Mayrhofer (1787 - 1836), "Der Hirt" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

• by Franz Peter Schubert (1797 - 1828), "Der Hirt", D 490 (1816), published 1895 [sung text checked 1 time]

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "El pastor", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• DUT Dutch (Nederlands) [singable] (Lau Kanen) , "De herder", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ENG English (Emily Ezust) , "The shepherd", copyright ©
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Le berger", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Peter Rastl [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 77

 You tower! in my sorrow
 you loom so high above,
 and ever remind me cruelly
 of that which I have lost.
 
 She clings to another,
 and lives in that hamlet there.
 My poor heart bleeds,
 pierced through with the sharpest arrow.
 
 In her fair eyes
 there was not a trace of falsity;
 I saw only a heaven of love,
 only sweetness in that mirror.
 
 Now wherever I go,
 that tower follows me;
 Oh would that, instead of telling the hour,
 it told her what devastates me!