by Richard Pohl (1826 - 1896)
Translation © by Sharon Krebs

Weh euch! ihr stolzen Hallen!
Language: German (Deutsch)  after the German (Deutsch) 
Available translation(s): ENG FRE
 Weh euch, ihr stolzen Hallen! Nie töne süßer Klang
 Durch eure Räume wieder, nie Saite noch Gesang,
 Nein, Seufzer nur und Stöhnen und scheuer Sklavenschritt,
 Bis euch zu Schutt und Moder der Rachegeist zertritt!

 Weh euch, ihr duft'gen Gärten im holden Maienlicht!
 Euch zeig' ich dieses Toten Angesicht,
 Daß ihr darob verdorret, daß jeder Quell versiegt,
 Daß ihr in künft'gen Tagen versteint, verödet liegt.

 Weh dir, verruchter Mörder! Du Fluch des Sängertums!
 Umsonst sei all dein Ringen nach Kränzen blut'gen Ruhms!
 Dein Name sei vergessen, in ew'ge Nacht getaucht,
 Sei, wie ein letztes Röcheln, in leere Luft verhaucht!
 Weh dir! Weh dir!


Based on

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

Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:

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

  • ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "Woe unto you, you proud halls", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Malheur à vous ! majestueuses salles !", copyright © 2012, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2011-07-19
Line count: 14
Word count: 103

Woe unto you, you proud halls
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch) 
 Woe unto you, you proud halls!  Nevermore may sweet tones
 Sound through your rooms, nevermore strings or singing,
 No, only sighs and moaning and timid footfalls of slaves,
 Until the spirit of revenge grinds you all to rubble and decay!
Woe unto you, you scented gardens in the lovely light of May!
 To you I show the face of this dead one,
 So that you may wither at the sight, so that every well-spring may dry up,
 So that in future days you shall lie stony and desolate.
Woe unto you, loathsome murderer! You curse of the race of singers!
 For naught be all your striving for the wreaths of bloody glory!
 May your name be forgotten, sunk into eternal night,
 May it, like a death rattle, be breathed into empty air!"
Woe unto you! Woe unto you!


  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2015 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.

Based onBased on


This text was added to the website: 2015-07-28
Line count: 14
Word count: 139