by
Franz Hüffer (1843 - 1889)
Jägerbraut
Language: German (Deutsch)
Available translation(s): ENG
Mein junger Liebster zog zu Wald
Im funkelnden Jägergeschmeide.
Wie warst so schmuck, mein herziger Schatz,
In dem grünen blitzenden Kleide!
Es blasen die Jäger Hallali.
Und wie sie den Eber, den wilden, gestellt,
Mein Schatz der erste von Allen, weh!
Da ist er, getroffen vom blutigen Zahn
Des wilden Gesellen, gefallen.
Es blasen die Jäger Hallali.
Ihr Jäger, was bringt ihr vom dunkeln Wald
Uns heim als glückliche Beute?
Wir bringen getragen ein edles Wild,
Wir bringen dein Schätzlein heute.
Es blasen die Jäger Hallali.
Im Walde kenn' ich ein kühles Grab,
Da sitz ich vom Frührothscheine
Bis in die dunkle kalte Nacht
Und wein', und wein', und weine.
Und wenn in des Herbstwind's traurigem Weh'n
Die welken Blätter sich regen,
Dann sollt ihr die arme, verlassene Braut
Dem Liebsten zur Seite legen.
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):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "The huntsman’s bride", copyright © 2022, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Sharon Krebs
[Guest Editor] This text was added to the website: 2009-08-25
Line count: 23
Word count: 134
The huntsman’s bride
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch)
My young beloved set off into the forest
In a sparkling huntsman's outfit.
How dashing you looked, my dearest darling,
In your gleaming green garb!
The hunters are blowing their horn-call.
And when they had cornered the boar, the wild one,
My darling was the first of them all, woe!
Struck by the bloody tooth of the wild creative,
There he lies, dead.
The hunters are blowing their horn-call.
Ye huntsmen, what lucky prize are you
Bringing back to us from the dark forest?
We come bearing noble game,
Today we are bringing back your darling.
The hunters are blowing their horn-call.
I know of a cool grave in the forest,
There I sit from the early glow of morning
Until the dark cold night
And weep, and weep, and weep.
And when, in the sad blowing of the autumn wind,
The withered leaves move,
Then you are to lay the poor, forsaken bride
At her beloved's side.
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2022 by Sharon Krebs, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2022-07-15
Line count: 23
Word count: 158