Philoktet
Language: German (Deutsch)
Available translation(s): CAT DUT ENG FRE ITA
Da sitz' ich ohne Bogen
Und starre in den Sand.
Was that ich dir, Ulysses?
Daß du sie mir entwandt
Die Waffe, die [dem Feinde]1
Des Todes Bothe war;
Die auf der wüsten Insel
Mir Unterhalt gebar.
Es rauschen Vögelschwärme
Mir [übers greise]2 Haupt;
Ich greife nach dem Bogen -
Umsonst - er ist geraubt.
Aus dichtem Busche raschelt
Der braune Hirsch hervor:
Ich strecke leere Arme
Zur Nemesis empor.
Du schlauer König scheue
Der Göttin Rächerblick!
Erbarme dich - und stelle
Den Bogen mir zurück.
View original text (without footnotes)
Confirmed with Gedichte von Johann Mayrhofer. Wien. Bey Friedrich Volke. 1824, pages 152-153.
1 Schubert: "den Trojern"
2 Schubert: "über'm greisen"
Text Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Filoctetes", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- DUT Dutch (Nederlands) [singable] (Lau Kanen) , "Philoctetes", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English (Emily Ezust) , "Philoctetes", copyright ©
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Philoctète", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Amelia Maria Imbarrato) , "Filottete", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust
[Administrator] , Peter Rastl
[Guest Editor] This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 83
Filottete
Language: Italian (Italiano) after the German (Deutsch)
Qui sto senz'arco,
in mezzo alla sabbia.
Che ti ho fatto, Ulisse,
che tu me l'hai portato via?
L'arma che fu messaggio
di morte ai troiani,
che sull'isola deserta mi
faceva vivere.
Sento passare stormi d'uccelli
sulla mia testa grigia,
cerco l'arco - invano,
mi è stato rubato!
Da questi cespugli,
il fruscio del cervo bruno:
io levo le braccia
vuote alla Nemesi.
Tu, re astuto, temi lo sguardo
vindice della dea!
Abbi pietà,
e ridammi l'arco.
Text Authorship:
Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2008-07-17
Line count: 20
Word count: 76