by Joseph Karl Benedikt, Freiherr von Eichendorff (1788 - 1857)
Translation © by Emily Ezust

Der Schreckenberger
Language: German (Deutsch) 
Our translations:  CAT ENG FRE FRE ITA
Aufs Wohlsein meiner Dame,
eine Windfahn' ist ihr Panier,
Fortuna ist ihr Name,
das Lager ihr Quartier!

Und wendet sie sich weiter, 
ich kümmre mich nicht drum,
da draußen ohne Reiter,
da geht die Welt so dumm.

Statt Pulverblitz und Knattern
aus jedem wüsten Haus
Gevattern sehn und schnattern
alle Lust zum Land hinaus.

Fortuna weint vor Ärger, 
es rinnet Perl' auf Perl';
»Wo ist der Schreckenberger?
Das war ein andrer Kerl!«

Sie tut den Arm mir reichen,
Fama bläst das Geleit,
so zu dem Tempel steigen
wir der Unsterblichkeit.

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) , "El perdonavides", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ENG English (Emily Ezust) , "The swashbuckler", copyright ©
  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Le fier-à-bras", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • FRE French (Français) (Stéphane Goldet) (Pierre de Rosamel) , "Le soudard", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "L'intrepido", copyright © 2009, (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: 20
Word count: 90

The swashbuckler
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch) 
 A toast to my lady,
 A weathervane is her banner,
 Fortune is her name,
 and the camp is her quarters!
 
 And if she goes somewhere else,
 I will not trouble myself over it;
 without cavalrymen,
 the world is a boring place.
 
 Instead of powder shot and crackling muskets,
 outside each deserted house
 you see gossips chattering; 
 there's no joy in such a land.
 
 Fortune weeps with annoyance:
 tears like pearls run down;
 "Where is my swashbuckler?
 He was a different kind of man!"
 
 She reaches her arm to me
 and accompanying Fame trumpets;
 and so we ascend to the temple
 of immortality.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
    from the LiederNet Archive

    For any other purpose, please write to the e-mail address below to request permission and discuss possible fees.


Based on:

 

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 103