by Gottfried Keller (1819 - 1890)
Translation © by Emily Ezust

Tretet ein, hoher Krieger
Language: German (Deutsch) 
Available translation(s): ENG FRE TUR
Tretet ein, hoher Krieger,
Der sein Herz mir ergab!
Legt den purpurnen Mantel
Und die Goldsporen ab!

Spannt das Roß in den Pflug,
Meinem Vater zum Gruß!
Die Schabrack mit dem Wappen
Gibt nen Teppich meinem Fuß!

Euer Schwertgriff muß lassen
Für mich Gold und Stein,
Und die blitzende Klinge
Wird ein Schüreisen sein.

Und die schneeweiße Feder
Auf dem blutroten Hut
Ist zu 'nem kühlenden Wedel
In der Sommerzeit gut.

Und der Marschalk muß lernen,
Wie man Weizenbrot backt,
Wie man Wurst und Gefüllsel
Um die Weihnachtszeit hackt!

Nun befehlt eure Seele
Dem heiligen Christ!
Euer Leib ist verkauft,
Wo kein Erlösen mehr ist!


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, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (Emily Ezust) , title 1: "Come in, noble warrior", copyright ©
  • FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , title 1: "Entrez, noble guerrier", copyright © 2012, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • TUR Turkish (Türkçe) (Gül Sabar) , title 1: "İçeri gir soylu savaşçı", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:01:36
Line count: 24
Word count: 105

Come in, noble warrior
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch) 
Come in, noble warrior, 
who has given me his heart!
Take off your purple mantle
and your golden spurs!

Let your horse now pull the plow
as a salute to my father!
Your saddle-cloth with its coat of arms -
give it to me as a rug for my feet!

Your sword hilt must give up
to me its gold and stones,
and its gleaming blade
shall become a poker iron.

And the snow-white feather
on your blood-red hat
is now to be a cooling fan,
good for the summer-time.

And the Marshal must learn
how one bakes wheat bread,
how one chops up sausage and stuffing
at Christmas-time!

Now commend your soul
to Holy Christ!
Your body is sold;
there is no more redeeming it.


  • 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


Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:01:36
Line count: 24
Word count: 126