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O heilig Herz der Völker, o Vaterland! Allduldend, gleich der schweigenden Mutter Erd, Und allverkannt, wenn schon aus deiner Tiefe die Fremden ihr Bestes haben! Sie ernten den Gedanken, den Geist von dir, Sie pflücken gern die Traube, doch höhnen sie Dich, ungestalte Rebe! daß du Schwankend den Boden und wild umirrest. Du Land des hohen ernsteren Genius! Du Land der Liebe! bin ich der deine schon, Oft zürnt ich weinend, daß du immer Blöde die eigene Seele leugnest. Doch magst du manches Schöne nicht bergen mir, Oft stand ich überschauend das holde Grün, Den weiten Garten hoch in deinen Lüften auf hellem Gebirg und sah dich. An deinen Strömen ging ich und dachte dich, Indes die Töne schüchtern die Nachtigall Auf schwanker Weide sang, und still auf Dämmerndem Grunde die Welle weilte. Und an den Ufern sah ich die Städte blühn, Die Edlen, wo der Fleiß in der Werkstatt schweigt, Die Wissenschaft, wo deine Sonne Milde dem Künstler zum Ernste leuchtet. Kennst du Minervas Kinder? sie wählten sich Den Ölbaum früh zum Lieblinge; kennst du sie? Noch lebt, noch waltet der Athener Seele, die sinnende, still bei Menschen, Wenn Platons frommer Garten auch schon nicht mehr Am alten Strome grünt und der dürftge Mann Die Heldenasche pflügt, und scheu der Vogel der Nacht auf der Säule trauert. O heilger Wald! o Attika! traf Er doch Mit seinem furchtbarn Strahle dich auch, so bald, Und eilten sie, die dich belebt, die Flammen entbunden zum Aether über? Doch, wie der Frühling, wandelt der Genius Von Land zu Land. Und wir? ist denn Einer auch Von unsern Jünglingen, der nicht ein Ahnden, ein Rätsel der Brust, verschwiege? Den deutschen Frauen danket! sie haben uns Der Götterbilder freundlichen Geist bewahrt, Und täglich sühnt der holde klare Friede das böse Gewirre wieder. Wo sind jetzt Dichter, denen der Gott es gab, Wie unsern Alten, freudig und fromm zu sein, Wo Weise, wie die unsre sind? die Kalten und Kühnen, die Unbestechbarn! Nun! sei gegrüßt in deinem Adel, mein Vaterland, Mit neuem Namen, reifeste Frucht der Zeit! Du letzte und du erste aller Musen, Urania, sei gegrüßt mir! Noch säumst und schweigst du, sinnest ein freudig Werk, Das von dir zeuge, sinnest ein neu Gebild, Das einzig, wie du selber, das aus Liebe geboren und gut, wie du, sei - Wo ist dein Delos, wo dein Olympia, Daß wir uns alle finden am höchsten Fest? - Doch wie errät der Sohn, was du den Deinen, Unsterbliche, längst bereitest?
H. Eisler sets stanzas 1-2, 4, 6 in (at least) one setting - see below for more information
About the headline (FAQ)
Authorship:
- by Friedrich Hölderlin (1770 - 1843), "Gesang des Deutschen" [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 Hanns Eisler (1898 - 1962), "Erinnerung", 1943, stanzas 1-2,4,6, from Hölderlin Fragmente, no. 6 [sung text checked 1 time]
- by Hanns Eisler (1898 - 1962), "Erinnerung", from Hollywooder Liederbuch, no. 42 [sung text checked 1 time]
- by Josef Matthias Hauer (1883 - 1959), "Gesang des Deutschen", op. 32 (Sieben Lieder) no. 7 (1924) [ medium voice and piano ] [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 60
Word count: 413
Oh holy heart of the nations, oh fatherland! Forbearing all, like the silent Mother Earth, And utterly misjudged, even though strangers have Exploited you, taking the best from your depths. From you they harvest the thought, the spirit, They gladly pick the grape cluster, but they scoff At you, ill-formed vine, that you Straggle about on the ground, swaying and wild. You land of lofty, more solemn genius! You land of love! although I am already yours, Often I raged, weeping, that you always Witlessly deny your own soul. Yet you cannot hide from me many beauties; Often I stood, letting my gaze wander over the lovely verdure, The broad garden high in your airy winds Upon the bright mountains, and [I] saw you. Along your rivers I walked and thought you, While the nightingale upon the swaying willow Shyly sang its notes, and quietly upon Twilit depths the wave lingered. And upon the shores I saw the cities blooming, The noble ones, where industry falls silent in the workshop, [I saw] knowledge, where your sun Gently lights the artist’s way to solemnity. Do you know Minerva’s children? early on, they chose The olive tree as their favourite; do you know them? Still lives, still prevails the soul of Athens' people, The meditative [soul], quietly among humankind. Even though Plato’s good garden no longer Flourishes along the old river, and an impoverished man Plows the ashes of heroes, and shyly the Night-bird mourns upon the pillar. Oh holy wood! oh Attica! did He after all strike You too with his fearsome beam, so quickly, And did they hasten, they who enlivened you, the Flames, released, over to the aether? But, as does the spring, genius wanders From land to land. And we? is there even one Of our youths, who does not conceal A premonition, an enigma of the bosom? Give thanks to German women! they have protected For us the friendly spirit of the images of the gods And daily lovely, clear Peace expiates Again the evil tangle. Where are there now poets, whom the god gave [the ability], As he gave it to our old ones, to be joyful and pious, Where are wise ones like those of ours? the Cold and courageous ones, the incorruptible! Now! be greeted in your nobility, my fatherland, With a new name, ripest fruit of the times! You the last and you the first of all Muses, Urania, I greet you! You still tarry and are silent, pondering a joyful work That might speak of you, pondering a new image That is unique like you yourself, that is solely born Of love and is good, as you are -- Where is your Delos, where your Olympia, So that we may all find each other at the highest festival?-- But how can the son divine what you, Immortal One, have Long prepared for those who are your own?
About the headline (FAQ)
Translated titles:"Gesang der Deutschen" = "Song of the Germans"
"Erinnerung" = "Remembrance"
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2016 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 Friedrich Hölderlin (1770 - 1843), "Gesang des Deutschen"
This text was added to the website: 2016-09-16
Line count: 60
Word count: 484