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O schaurig ist's übers Moor zu gehn, Wenn es wimmelt vom Heiderauche, Sich wie Phantome die Dünste drehn Und die Ranke häkelt am Strauche, Unter jedem Tritte ein Quellchen springt, Wenn aus der Spalte es zischt und singt! -- O schaurig ist's übers Moor zu gehn, Wenn das Röhricht knistert im Hauche! Fest hält die Fibel das zitternde Kind Und rennt als ob man es jage; Hohl über die Fläche sauset der Wind -- Was raschelt drüben am Hage? Das ist der gespenstige Gräberknecht, Der dem Meister die besten Torfe verzecht; Hu, hu, es bricht wie ein irres Rind! Hinducket das Knäblein zage. Vom Ufer starret Gestumpf hervor, Unheimlich nicket die Föhre, Der Knabe rennt, gespannt das Ohr, Durch Riesenhalme wie Speere; Und wie es rieselt und knittert darin! Das ist die unselige Spinnerin, Das ist die gebannte Spinnlenor', Die den Haspel dreht im Geröhre! Voran, voran, nur immer im Lauf, Voran als woll' es ihn holen! Vor seinem Fuße brodelt es auf, Es pfeift ihm unter den Sohlen Wie eine gespenstige Melodei; Das ist der Geigemann ungetreu, Das ist der diebische Fiedler Knauf, Der den Hochzeitheller gestohlen! Da birst das Moor, ein Seufzer geht Hervor aus der klaffenden Höhle; Weh, weh, da ruft die verdammte Margret: "Ho, ho, meine arme Seele!" Der Knabe springt wie ein wundes Reh; Wär' nicht Schutzengel in seiner Näh', Seine bleichenden Knöchelchen fände spät Ein Gräber im Moorgeschwele. Da mählich gründet der Boden sich, Und drüben, neben der Weide, Die Lampe flimmert so heimatlich, Der Knabe steht an der Scheide. Tief atmet er auf, zum Moor zurück Noch immer wirft er den scheuen Blick: Ja, im Geröhre war's fürchterlich, O schaurig war's in der Heide!
Authorship:
- by Annette Elisabeth, Freiin von Droste-Hülshoff (1797 - 1848), "Der Knabe im Moor" [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 Walter Rudolph Niemann (1876 - 1953), "Der Knabe im Moor", op. 4 (Zwei Balladen) no. 2, published c1904 [ voice and piano ], Breitkopf & Härtel [sung text not yet checked]
- by Julius Weismann (1879 - 1950), "Der Knabe im Moor", op. 18a (Vier Balladen für Bariton) no. 3 (1903/6) [ baritone and piano ] [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Jane K. Brown) , "The boy in the bog", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2007-07-26
Line count: 48
Word count: 279
O it's frightful to cross the bog When the heath-mist rises, The vapours whirl like phantoms And tendrils snatch from the bushes, At every step water squirts, When hissing and singing rises from the chasm, O it's frightful to cross the bog, When the reed bed crackles in the breeze! The trembling child clutches his primer And runs as if he were hunted; The wind blows hollow over the flats -- What's rustling there by the hedge? That's the ghostly digger, Who drinks up his master's best peat; Uh oh, it sounds like a cow running wild! The little lad crouches in fear. Tree stumps glare from the river's edge, The pine nods uncannily, The boy runs with straining ears Through giant stalks like spears; And how it trickles and crackles there! That is the miserable spinning maid, That is the enchanted spinning Lenore, Who twirls her bobbin in the reeds! Further, further, he keeps on running, Further as if it will catch him; It bubbles up before his feet, It whistles beneath his soles Like a ghostly song of old; That is the faithless fiddler, That is the thievish fiddler Knauf, Who stole the wedding penny! The bog gives way, a sigh comes Forth from the gaping hollow; Woe is me, there's damned Margaret calling: "Ho, ho, my poor soul!" The boy leaps like a wounded deer, If his guardian angel were not nearby, His bleaching bones would be found too late By a digger in the smouldering bog. Then the ground gradually firms up, And there, by the willow, The lamp twinkles so cozily, The lad has reached the edge. He breathes a deep sigh back toward the bog And still gazes shyly: It was dreadful among the rushes, O it was frightful on the heath!
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2015 by Jane K. Brown, (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 Annette Elisabeth, Freiin von Droste-Hülshoff (1797 - 1848), "Der Knabe im Moor"
This text was added to the website: 2015-07-28
Line count: 48
Word count: 297