Schöne Fremde, Op. 3, No. 2 (Fanny Hensel)

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• (Posted 2020-01-12)  CPDL #56614:         

Editor: James Gibb (submitted 2020-01-12).   Score information: A4, 8 pages, 124 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: #56613, transposed down a major 2nd.

• (Posted 2020-01-12)  CPDL #56613:         

Editor: James Gibb (submitted 2020-01-12).   Score information: A4, 8 pages, 123 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: In English translation. Original key. Includes a keyboard reduction of the a cappella choral score.

• (Posted 2003-05-22)  CPDL #05125:         

Editor: Pablo Rosario (submitted 2003-05-22).   Score information: A4, 4 pages, 280 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes:

Possible error(s) identified. See the discussion page for full description.

General Information

Title: Schöne Fremde, Op. 3, No. 2
Composer: Fanny Hensel
Lyricist: Joseph von Eichendorff

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: Secular, Partsong

Language: German
Instruments: A cappella

First published: 1846
    2nd published: 1879 in Novello's Part-Song Book (2nd series), Vol. 12, no. 347
Description: 

Original text and translations

German text Es rauschen die Wipfel und schauern, Als machten zu dieser Stund Um die halbversunkenen Mauern Die alten Götter die Rund. Hier hinter den Myrtenbäumen In heimlich dämmernder Pracht, Was sprichst du wirr wie in Träumen Zu mir, phantastische Nacht? Es funkeln auf mich alle Sterne Mit glühendem Liebesblick, Es redet trunken die Ferne Wie vom künftigem, großem Glück.

English translation The treetops are rustling and sighing, As though at the lonely hour All the ancient gods were assembling Within some ruined old tower. Here deep in the branching myrtles, Where the moon doth shed her light, What dreams ye bring to my spirit, Fantastic forms of night! The stars all around me are glowing, Bright eyes of the realms of love, Of future joy they are telling, In far distant lands above.

French translation Les cimes des arbres bruissent et frissonnent Comme si à cette heure Autour des murs à moitié engloutis Les anciens dieux faisaient la ronde. Ici, derrière les halliers de myrte, dans la splendeur commençant à poindre secrètement, que me dis-tu si confusément comme dans les rêves, Oh nuit fantastique? Toutes les étoiles scintillent sur moi, Étincelants clins d’œil d'amour, Le lointain parle, ivre, de grandes joies futures.