Ich komme vom Gebirge her,
Es dampft das Tal, es braust das Meer.
Ich wandle still, bin wenig froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer, wo?
Die Sonne dünkt mich hier so kalt,
Die Blüte welk, das Leben alt,
Und was sie reden, leerer Schall;
Ich bin ein Fremdling überall.
Wo bist du, mein geliebtes Land?
Gesucht, geahnt, und nie gekannt!
Das Land, das Land so hoffnungsgrün,
Das Land, wo meine Rosen blühn.
Wo meine Freunde wandelnd gehn,
Wo meine Toten auferstehn,
Das Land, das meine Sprache spricht,
O Land, wo bist du? . . .
Ich wandle still, bin wenig froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer, wo?
Im Geisterhauch tönt's mir zurück:
"Dort, wo du nicht bist, dort ist das Glück."
Schmidt von Lübeck:
The Wanderer
I come from highlands down to shore,
the valleys steam, the oceans roar.
I wander silent, joyless here:
my sigh keeps asking, Where? Oh, where?
Their sun appears to me so cold,
their blossoms limp, their life so old;
and what they speak of, empty fare:
I am a stranger everywhere.
Where are you, land, beloved home?
Imagined, sought, but never known!
The land, the land, whence hope does flow,
the land where all my roses grow,
where friends shall never meet in vain,
where all my dead shall rise again,
the land that speaks my language true:
Oh land, where are you?...
I wander silent, joyless here,
my sigh keeps asking, Where? Oh where?
The specters answer my distress:
"Where you are not, there's happiness."
Not that I recommend singing The Wanderer in English. But, if so, some small alterations need perhaps be made.
Plus, of course, the repetitions. But then, I may be off key. In my first grade, our well-eared teacher banned me from singing along with my classmates - Note: the singing of folk songs is a well-established and beloved tradition in Austrian grade- and highschools - and that was that. And it was that for the rest of my life, bathtub excepted.
I could even see the wisdom of it all, hurt as it may. For instance the time I heard Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau sing Der Wanderer in the Vienna Konzerthaus during the late fifties. It was one of those Sternstunden (inadequately translated as "star-struck hours") of music - and let's not forget to say thanks to my knowledgeable girlfriend of these happy days, who took me - on standing tickets, of course - to the most memorable Viennese concert and opera performances.
Der Wanderer was the last song of Fischer-Dieskau's recital - and when the last note had faded, the hall remained absolutely silent. For about ten seconds, you could have heard a pin drop. Then the audience jumped to their feet and stormed the stage. (With me, they would have drowned me in my bathtub.) Incidentally, I still consider the Dieskau/Moore recording the best of many excellent recordings of this song.
In any case, when it comes to content, it may be wise to consult the translation of others, e.g. that of Paul Hindemith - I presume it's by the Hindemith.
Franz Schubert's soul resonated with that of the Wanderer, and might have been even one and the same. Some short forays to what is now Hungary (for tutoring an Esterhazy princess) and short vacations with friends in Upper/Lower Austria aside, Schubert never left Vienna. Couldn't afford to, either. He never saw the sea, yet, as Axel Munthe once remarked, nobody ever described its power and majesty better than he. Water, in all its forms, held a fascination for Schubert. But, then, the Wanderer's landscape is a landscape of the soul...
The melody of the Wanderer also appears in the Wanderer Phantasie - and there the Wanderer got the better of Schubert. When first playing it for his friends, with his short and stubby fingers, Schubert stopped somewhere in triplet country and exclaimed, "May the devil play that - I can't!"
Incidentally, this website offers translations for about one percent of all the poems set to music by Schubert: Der Lindenbaum, Der Wegweiser and Der Leiermann from Die Winterreise (# 5, 20 and 24 (last), respectively, from D.911, op.89) by (Johann Ludwig) Wilhelm Müller; Wandrers Nachtlied II (D.768, op.96-3) and Gretchen am Spinnrad (D.118, op. 2) by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe; this song, Der Wanderer (D.493, op.4-1) by Georg Philipp Schmidt von Lübeck; An die Musik (D.547, op.88-4) by Franz (Adolf Friedrich) von Schober; and Du bist die Ruh (D.776) by Friedrich Rückert.
Seems I never got over my love for self-advertising, did I? Nor of my love for Schubert. So here are some links to photographs of Schubert's monument in the Stadtpark of Vienna, one from 2003, and one, two, and three from 2005. These are from the Vienna Tourist and the Vienna Spring image collections, respectively. Alright, enough of this visual stuff, back to really listening to Schubert...
