Amat nemus et fugit urbes.
                          Horat. 

Es rieselt, klar und wehend,
Ein Quell im Eichenwald; 
Da [wähl']1 ich, einsam gehend,
Mir meinen Aufenthalt.
Mir dienet zur Capelle
Ein Gröttchen, duftigfrisch;
Zu meiner Klausnerzelle
Verschlungenes Gebüsch.

Zwar düster ist und trüber
Die nahe Wüsteney;
Allein nur desto lieber
Der stillen Fantasey.
Da ruh' ich oft im dichten,
Beblümten Heidekraut;
Hoch wehn die schwanken Fichten,
Und stöhnen Seufzerlaut.

Wo von Wacholdersträuchen
Den Kieselsteig hinan
Verworrene Ranken schleichen,
Da brech' ich mir die Bahn;
Durch des Gehaues Stumpen,
Wo wilde Erdbeern stehn,
Klimm' ich auf Felsenklumpen,
Das Land umher zu sehn.

Nichts [unterbricht das]2 Schweigen
Der Wildniß weit und breit,
Als wenn auf dürren Zweigen
Ein Grünspecht hackt und schreyt,
Ein Rab' auf hoher Spitze
[Bemooster]3 Tannen krächzt,
Und in der Felsenritze
Ein Ringeltäubchen ächzt.

Wie sich das Herz erweitert
Im engen, dichten Wald!
Den öden Trübsinn heitert
Der traute Schatten bald.
Kein überleg'ner Späher
Erforscht hier meine Spur;
Ich bin hier frei und näher
Der Einfalt und Natur.

O [blieb']4 ich von den Ketten
Des Weltgewirres frey!
Könnt' ich zu dir mich retten,
Du traute Siedeley!
Froh, daß ich dem Gebrause
Des [Menschenschwarms]5 entwich,
Baut' ich hier eine Klause
Für Liebchen und für mich.

F. Schubert sets stanzas 1, 2, 5 in (at least) one setting - see below for more information

About the headline (FAQ)

View original text (without footnotes)

Confirmed with Gedichte von J. G. von Salis. Gesammelt durch seinen Freund Friedrich Matthisson. Zürich, bey Orell, Gessner, Füssli und Compagnie. 1793, pages 61-63; and with Gedichte von J. G. von Salis. Neueste Auflage. Wien 1815. Bey B. Ph. Bauer, pages 57-59.

First published in Musen-Almanach für 1789. Herausgegeben von J. H. Voß. Hamburg, bey Carl Ernst Bohn, pages 179-181.

¹ Salis (1789 edition): "wählt'"
² Salis (1789 edition): "stört das tiefe"
³ Salis (1789 edition): "Gebogner"
⁴ Salis (1789-1797 editions): "wär"
² Salis (1789-1794 editions): "Weltlingschwarms"

Authorship

• by Johann Gaudenz Freiherr von Salis-Seewis (1762 - 1834), "Die Einsiedeley", written 1787, first published 1789 [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 Hans Georg Nägeli (1773 - 1836), "Die Einsiedelei", c1790-5. [voice and piano] [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]
• by Franz Peter Schubert (1797 - 1828), "Die Einsiedelei", alternate title: "Lob der Einsamkeit", D. 337 (1816?), published c1860, stanzas 1,2,5 [vocal quartet for 2 tenors and 2 basses], first setting [ sung text checked 1 time]
• by Franz Peter Schubert (1797 - 1828), "Die Einsiedelei", D. 393 (1816), published 1845 [voice, piano], second setting [ sung text checked 1 time]
• by Franz Peter Schubert (1797 - 1828), "Die Einsiedelei", D. 563 (1817), published 1887 [voice, piano], third setting [ sung text checked 1 time]

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

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• DUT Dutch (Nederlands) [singable] (Lau Kanen) , "De kluizenaarswoning", copyright © 2006, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ENG English (Malcolm Wren) , copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Research team for this text: Lau Kanen [Guest Editor] , Peter Rastl [Guest Editor]

Text added to the website: 2006-08-28 00:00:00
Last modified: 2017-09-26 02:47:20
Line count: 50
Word count: 203

He loves the woods and flees the towns.
                                                 Horace 

Clear and wafting, there is the rustling of
A spring in the oak wood;
Going there alone, that is the place I chose
For my residence.
Serving me as a chapel
There is a little grotto, scented and fresh;
For my hermit's cell
There are entwined bushes.

It is really dark and gloomy,
That genuine wilderness;
Yet it is all the more attractive
For quiet application of the imagination.
I often rest there, amongst the thick
Flowering moorland herbs;
The tall, thin spruces sway
And emit a moaning, sighing sound.

There, growing out of the juniper bushes
Going up the pebble steps,
Twisting tendrils are creeping, and
That is where I have to clear my way forward;
Through chopped tree stumps,
Where there are wild strawberries,
I clamber onto lumps of rock
In order to look at the countryside around.

Nothing interrupts the silence
Of the broad wilderness going off into the distance,
Except when, on dried up branches
A green woodpecker pecks and cries out,
Or if there is a raven on the high point
Of a moss-covered fir tree and it caws,
Or in one of the cracks of the cliff-face
There is a dear little wood pigeon complaining.

How the heart broadens out
In the thick, narrow forest!
Awful melancholy is cheered up
Quickly in its intimate shadows.
No supercilious scout
Will find a trace of me here;
Here I am free and nearer
To simplicity and to nature.

Oh, if only I could remain free from the chains
Of the world's turbulence!
If only I could escape to you,
You cosy settlement!
Pleased at having escaped from the roaring
Of human swarms,
I would build a cell here
For the beloved and for me.