Philoktet
Language: German (Deutsch)
Available translation(s): CAT DUT ENG FRE ITA
Da sitz' ich ohne Bogen
Und starre in den Sand.
Was that ich dir, Ulysses?
Daß du sie mir entwandt
Die Waffe, die [dem Feinde]1
Des Todes Bothe war;
Die auf der wüsten Insel
Mir Unterhalt gebar.
Es rauschen Vögelschwärme
Mir [übers greise]2 Haupt;
Ich greife nach dem Bogen -
Umsonst - er ist geraubt.
Aus dichtem Busche raschelt
Der braune Hirsch hervor:
Ich strecke leere Arme
Zur Nemesis empor.
Du schlauer König scheue
Der Göttin Rächerblick!
Erbarme dich - und stelle
Den Bogen mir zurück.
View original text (without footnotes)
Confirmed with Gedichte von Johann Mayrhofer. Wien. Bey Friedrich Volke. 1824, pages 152-153.
1 Schubert: "den Trojern"
2 Schubert: "über'm greisen"
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) , "Filoctetes", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- DUT Dutch (Nederlands) [singable] (Lau Kanen) , "Philoctetes", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English (Emily Ezust) , "Philoctetes", copyright ©
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Philoctète", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Amelia Maria Imbarrato) , "Filottete", copyright © 2008, (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: 20
Word count: 86
Philoctetes
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch)
I sit here without my bow
and stare into the sand.
What did I do to you, Ulysses,
that you would steal from me?
The weapon that was the harbinger
of death to the Trojans -
it gave me, on this desolate island,
my only means of sustenance.
Flocks of birds
speed over my grey head;
I reach for my bow in vain,
for it has been stolen!
From the thick bush
rushes the brown stag:
I stretch my empty arms
up to Nemesis.
You crafty king,
fear the Goddess's vengeful gaze!
Take pity
and give me back my bow.
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 -- https://www.lieder.net/
For any other purpose, please write to the e-mail address below to request permission and discuss possible fees.
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Based on:
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 100