Die Forelle (The Trout 鱒魚) Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart

Die Forelle, Op.32 (D.550), is a lively lied written in 1817 by Franz Schubert (1797-1828). This immensely popular piece is for solo voice and piano. The lyrics are from the first three (of four) stanzas of a poem by Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart. The piece is written with a Varied Strophic structure, meaning the “verse music” is generally the same, with one different verse.  [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Die_Forelle]

Renditions by –

Ian Bostridge (tenor): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bk-TXzUlJhs&feature=related

Hermann Prey (baritone): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arlDs0oebkQ&feature=related

Elisabeth Schwarzkopf (soprano): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0aUdoNxEeY&feature=related

Christa Ludwig (mezzo-soprano): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pH611kqRLVc&feature=related

[http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trout_Quintet]

 In einem Bächlein helle,
Da schoß in froher Eil
Die launische Forelle
Vorüber wie ein Pfeil.
Ich stand an dem Gestade
Und sah in süßer Ruh
Des muntern Fischleins Bade
Im klaren Bächlein zu.

Ein Fischer mit der Rute
Wohl an dem Ufer stand,
Und sah’s mit kaltem Blute,
Wie sich das Fischlein wand.
So lang dem Wasser Helle,
So dacht ich, nicht gebricht,
So fängt er die Forelle
Mit seiner Angel nicht.

Doch endlich ward dem Diebe
Die Zeit zu lang. Er macht
Das Bächlein tückisch trübe,
Und eh ich es gedacht,
So zuckte seine Rute,
Das Fischlein zappelt dran,
Und ich mit regem Blute
Sah die Betrogene an.

 

Die ihr am goldenen Quelle

Der sicheren Jugend weilt,

Denkt doch an die Forelle,

 Seht ihr Gefahr, so eilt!

Meist fehlt ihr nur aus Mangel

 der Klugheit, Mädchen, seht

Verführer mit der Angel!

Sonst blutet ihr zu spät!

 Tr. Walter Meyer

Across a clear brook gentle,

There shot in eager haste

The trout, so temperamental;

Quite arrow-like it raced.

I on the shore was gazing

And watched the brook disclose

The merry fish’s bathing

To me in sweet repose.

An angler’s reel unrolled

From where he stood below.

He watched with blood most cold

The fish swim to and fro.

So long no stone or sod

Stirred up the water pure

The trout from line and rod

Would stay, I thought, secure.

At length the thief lost patience

And made the brook obscure

With crafty agitations,

And ere I could be sure

The rod had started curving;

The squirming fish was hooked.

With pounding blood observing,

At the betrayed, I looked.

You, at the fountain golden,

Of youth, so free from doubt,

Be to the trout beholden;

At danger’s sign, clear out!

‘Tis oft for want of reason

That maids will shun the straight.

Beware the anglers’ treason

Else you may bleed too late!

About YK 1965

Class of WYK1965 Microbiologist (Environmental Microbiology) Honorary Research Fellow Agriculture Canada, Ottawa
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