With gentle notes on the harp
Let me greet you, melancholy!
Oh nymph, you who control tears
And lock up their consecrated source!
On your threshold I feel
A gentle shudder go through me,
And the brightness of your twilight
Glows over the course of destiny.

You, just as you cause people to weep at joy
And see melancholy as something to smile about,
Can unite pleasure and pain,
So that grief can turn into delight;
You brighten cloudy skies
With evening sunshine,
You hang lamps in vaults
And you crown the gravestone.

You approach whenever laments have already
Extended the breast more gently,
Whenever sorrow by the sarcophagus
Presses on tired temples;
When patience allows itself
To snuggle up to hope,
The wet dew of tears 
Dries up and vision becomes painless.

You, who look down at the corpses of flowers
As deep thoughts lower the eyelids,
When you see bushes without leaves
You think of the time when they are in blossom;
Into Flora's bright crown
A dark violet is woven,
And quietly, with Alcyone,
It hovers around shipwrecks.

Oh you, who so keenly
Dream about the former days of childhood,
You even take those distant clouds
And give them a golden lining from the sun:
Whatever memory presents to us
Is glossed over with a quiet radiance,
The agonies of separation are softened
And despair is brought under control.

The hordes of sorrow,
The crow-black train of care,
Fly off at the chords
Plucked from your harp;
You enchant the sons of the Alps
Banished to the moorlands of Flanders
With the notes of cowherds' songs
That offer images from home.

In your shaded halls
You initiate singers;
You teach young nightingales
The melodies of mourning;
Where graves turn green you bend
Your ear to Hölty's note;
You pluck moss from castle ruins
With my copy of Matthisson.

Under weeping willows continue to touch
My stringed instrument frequently;
Blend both grief and sorrow
Into a sweet recollection;
Give strength to those that are touched!
Look up from the flowers of mourning
When God's stars are alight,
Lift your gaze in prayer!