The refugee
(Poet's title: Der Flüchtling)
Set by Schubert:
D 67
Stanza 1
Frisch atmet des Morgens lebendiger Hauch
trio for TTB[May 15, 1813]
D 402
[March 18, 1816]
Frisch atmet des Morgens lebendiger Hauch,
Purpurisch zuckt durch düst’re Tannen Ritzen
Das junge Licht und äugelt aus dem Strauch,
In goldnen Flammen blitzen
Der Berge Wolkenspitzen,
Mit freudig melodisch gewirbeltem Lied
Begrüßen erwachende Lerchen die Sonne,
Die schon in lachender Wonne
Jugendlich schön in Auroras Umarmungen glüht.
Sei, Licht, mir gesegnet!
Dein Strahlenguss regnet
Erwärmend hernieder auf Anger und Au.
Wie flittern die Wiesen,
Wie silberfarb zittern
Tausend Sonnen im perlenden Tau,
In säuselnder Kühle
Beginnen die Spiele
Der jungen Natur,
Die Zephyre kosen
Und schmeicheln um Rosen,
Und Düfte beströmen die lachende Flur.
Wie hoch aus den Städten die Rauchwolken dampfen,
Laut wiehern und schnauben und knirschen und strampfen
Die Rosse, die Farren,
Die Wagen erknarren
Ins ächzende Tal.
Die Waldungen leben,
Und Adler, und Falken und Habichte schweben
Und wiegen die Flügel im blendenden Strahl.
Den Frieden zu finden,
Wohin soll ich wenden
Am elenden Stab?
Die lachende Erde,
Mit Jünglingsgebärde,
Für mich nur ein Grab?
Steig empor, o Morgenrot, und röte
Mit purpurnen Küssen Hain und Feld,
Säusle nieder, o Abendrot und flöte
In sanften Schlummer die tote Welt!
Morgen, ach, du rötest
Eine Totenflur,
Ach und du, o Abendrot umflötest
Meinen langen Schlummer nur.
The morning’s living breath is fresh;
Through dark cracks in the fir trees there is a purple flash
Of young light looking out of the bushes,
Flashing with golden flames
There are cloud capped mountain peaks,
With a joyful, melodious rolling song
As they wake up, larks greet the sun,
Which, already laughing with joy, is
Glowing beautifully in Aurora’s embrace.
Let me bless you, light!
Your gushing beams rain down,
Giving warmth to the pastures and meadows below.
There is a silver-like glow in
The meadows, as if
A thousand suns were shaking in the pearls of dew!
In the rustling coolness
Games are beginning –
It is young nature;
The zephyrs are caressing
And flattering the roses
And scents flow through the laughing fields.
How high above the towns the clouds of smoke rise up!
There is loud neighing, snorting, grinding and stamping from
The horses and the bulls;
The carts creak
Into the groaning valley.
The woodlands are alive,
And eagles, falcons and hawks glide
And beat their wings in the dazzling glow.
In order to find peace,
Where should I turn
With my wretched staff?
Is the laughing earth
With these signs of youth,
For me, just a grave?
Climb up, oh dawn, and redden
Grove and field with crimson kisses!
Lower your sighing, sunset, and pipe
The dead world softly to sleep!
Morning, oh, you redden
A field of death;
Oh, and you, sunset. Just pipe around
My long sleep.
All translations into English that appear on this website, unless otherwise stated, are by Malcolm Wren. You are free to use them on condition that you acknowledge Malcolm Wren as the translator and schubertsong.uk as the source. Unless otherwise stated, the comments and essays that appear after the texts and translations are by Malcolm Wren and are © Copyright.
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Themes and images in this text:
Blood Breath and breathing Carts and chariots Cattle Clouds Dew Eagles Evening and the setting sun Fields and meadows Fire Games and play Gold Graves and burials Hills and mountains Horses Journeys Joy Kissing Larks Laughing Lullabies Morning and morning songs Mountains and cliffs Pine trees Rain Red and purple Roses and pink Serenades and songs at evening Silver Sleep Smells Smoke Songs (general) The sun Towns Valleys Walking and wandering Walking sticks (Wanderstab) Wind Woods – large woods and forests (Wald) Woods – groves and clumps of trees (Hain)
Being in flight is no laughing matter. The refugee (or ‘migrant’, depending on how we choose to translate ‘Der Flüchtling’, the title of Schiller’s text) comes face to face with a world that is waking up to joy and ecstasy, yet for the narrator all of this activity and bustle reinforces a longing for rest. The warming red glow of dawn and the sounds of the dawn chorus, which the rest of the world greets with life and laughter, is, for the speaker, a red sunset pouring blood and the serenade / lullaby / lament that accompanies a descent into the grave.
The first stanza gives us the impression that we are in the world of Goethe’s ‘Ganymed’. Morning is breathing. The first rays of the sun send flames to the mountain tops which break through the surrounding foliage. Larks sing to greet the sun as it lights them up. This whole process of interaction is seen as an ’embrace’ (as in Zeus’s taking of Ganymede up in his arms on a glorious morning such as this).
Now it is the turn of the surface of the earth to reflect the sky. A thousand suns glitter in the pearls of dew on the grassland. Breezes and scents bring movement to the solid, fixed earth. The metaphor at the centre of this second stanza centres around ‘play’. The movement in the vegetation represents ‘the games of young nature’, or rather ‘young nature at play’ (the ambiguity of ‘spielen’, ‘to play’, is vital to make sense of the final image of the text as the piper ‘plays’ a lullaby; the playful sounds here play a piper’s lament).
In the first two stanzas everything has been top – down. It is the earth that has responded to the arrival of the sun. At the beginning of stanza 3 the movement is the other way. Smoke rises from human settlements (we have turned from nature to civilisation, or at least the domestic realm). Farm animals make unpoetic though onomatopeic snorting and stomping noises and carts clatter as the day’s work begins. The birds of prey stretch their wings too and get ready for a day’s swooping and snatching. This is all purposeful activity.
That is precisely the problem for the narrator, who has no such established plan for the day. S/he does not feel part of either this natural or that domestic scene. The embrace that took Ganymede up in ecstasy is now the kiss of death. The red flames of dawn are a blood-red sunset (Morgenrot, dawn, is Abendrot, sunset). As a whole laughing world awakes, I take my final sleep. They are playing and the world is laughing, but it is not a game.
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Original Spelling and note on the text Der Flüchtling Frisch athmet des Morgens lebendiger Hauch, Purpurisch zuckt durch düst're Tannen Ritzen Das junge Licht, und äugelt aus dem Strauch, In gold'nen Flammen blitzen Der Berge Wolkenspitzen, Mit freudig melodisch gewirbeltem Lied Begrüßen erwachende Lerchen die Sonne, Die schon in lachender Wonne Jugendlich schön in Auroras Umarmungen glüht. Sei Licht mir gesegnet! Dein Strahlenguß regnet Erwärmend hernieder auf Anger und Au. Wie silberfarb flittern Die Wiesen, wie zittern Tausend Sonnen im perlenden Thau! In säuselnder Kühle Beginnen die Spiele Der jungen Natur, Die Zephyre kosen Und schmeicheln um Rosen, Und Düfte beströmen die lachende Flur. Wie hoch aus den Städten die Rauchwolken dampfen, Laut wiehern und schnauben und knirschen und strampfen Die Rosse, die Farren, Die Wagen erknarren Ins ächzende Thal. Die Waldungen leben, Und Adler, und Falken und Habichte schweben, Und wiegen die Flügel im blendenden Strahl. Den Frieden zu finden, Wohin soll ich wenden Am elenden Stab? Die lachende Erde Mit Jünglingsgebärde, Für mich nur ein Grab! Steig empor, o Morgenroth, und röthe Mit purpurnen Küssen Hain und Feld, Säusle nieder Abendroth und flöte Sanft in Schlummer die todte Welt1! Morgen - ach! du röthest Eine Todtenflur, Ach! und du, o Abendroth! umflötest Meinen langen Schlummer nur. 1 Schubert changed 'die erstorb'ne Welt' (the world that has died) to 'die todte Welt' (the dead world)
Confirmed by Peter Rastl with Gedichte von Friederich Schiller, Zweiter Theil, Zweite, verbesserte und vermehrte Auflage, Leipzig, 1805, bei Siegfried Lebrecht Crusius, pages 147-149.
First published in Anthologie auf das Jahr 1782, anonymously edited by Schiller with the fake publishing information “Gedrukt in der Buchdrukerei zu Tobolsko”, actually published by Johann Benedict Metzler in Stuttgart. This poem (pages 184-186) has the title “Morgenfantasie” and “Y.” as the author’s name.
To see an early edition of the text, go to page 104 [110 von 310] here: http://digital.onb.ac.at/OnbViewer/viewer.faces?doc=ABO_%2BZ207858305