Du Thurm! zu meinem Leide
Ragst du so hoch empor,
Und mahnest grausam immer
An [sie, die]1 ich verlor.

Sie hängt an einem Andern,
Und wohnt im Weiler dort.
Mein armes Herz verblutet,
Vom schärfsten Pfeil durchbohrt.

In ihren [braunen]2 Augen
War keiner Untreu Spur;
[Aus ihnen sprachen Liebe
Und holde Anmuth]3 nur.

Wohin ich [nun mich]4 wende -
Der Thurm, er folget mir;
O sagt' er, statt der Stunden,
Was mich vernichtet, ihr!

View original text (without footnotes)

Confirmed with Gedichte von Johann Mayrhofer. Wien. Bey Friedrich Volke. 1824, page 11.

Note: Schubert received Mayrhofer's texts generally in handwriting; the printed edition of Mayrhofer's poems appeared much later and presents the texts usually in a revised version.

¹ Schubert: "das, was"
² Schubert: "schönen"
³ Schubert: "Ich sah der Liebe Himmel, / Der Anmut Spiegel"
⁴ Schubert: "mich nun"

Text Authorship:

• by Johann Baptist Mayrhofer (1787 - 1836), "Der Hirt" [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 Franz Peter Schubert (1797 - 1828), "Der Hirt", D 490 (1816), published 1895 [sung text checked 1 time]

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

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "El pastor", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• DUT Dutch (Nederlands) [singable] (Lau Kanen) , "De herder", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ENG English (Emily Ezust) , "The shepherd", copyright ©
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Le berger", copyright © 2011, (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: 16
Word count: 73

Toi, la tour ! ma douleur,
Tu la domines de si haut,
Et toujours tu me rappelles cruellement
Ce que j'ai perdu.

Elle est accrochée à un autre,
Et vit dans ce hameau là-bas.
Mon pauvre cœur saigne,
Transpercé par la flèche la plus acérée.

Dans ses beaux yeux
Il n'y avait aucune trace de fausseté,
J'ai vu seulement un amour céleste,
Un miroir de grâce.

Maintenant où que j'aille
La tour me suit ;
Oh, si elle disait à la place des heures
Ce qui me détruit, à elle !