Reeds

Tani Buncho, Reeds with moon, 1816
Tani Buncho, Reeds with moon, 1816

Nicht das Stampfen wilder Pferde,
Nicht der Schreckensruf der Wacht,
Nicht das Bild von Tagsbeschwerde
Stören deine stille Nacht. 

Doch der Lerche Morgensänge
Wecken sanft dein schlummernd Ohr,
Und des Sumpfgefieders Klänge,
Steigend aus Geschilf und Rohr. 

Not the stamping of wild horses,
Not the terrifying call of the watchman,
Not the image of all of the troubles of the day
None of these are going to disturb your quiet night.

But it will be the morning songs of the lark
That gently wake your sleeping ears,
And the sounds of the marsh birds
Rising out of the reeds and rushes.

Scott / Storck, 	Ellens Gesang I	D 837

Walter Scott’s Ellen Douglas, the ‘lady of the lake’, is intimately familiar with reeds and rushes. As she offers hospitality to a stranger (the disguised King James V of Scotland) she rows him across Loch Katrin and takes him to rest in ‘a rustic bower’, where (in Storck’s German translation) reeds and bullrushes (as well as pine and dried heather) have been used as building materials.

     It was a lodge of ample size,
     But strange of structure and device;
     Of such materials as around
     The workman's hand had readiest found.
     Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks bared,
     And by the hatchet rudely squared,
     To give the walls their destined height,
     The sturdy oak and ash unite;
     While moss and clay and leaves combined
     To fence each crevice from the wind.
     The lighter pine-trees overhead
     Their slender length for rafters spread,
     And withered heath and rushes dry
     Supplied a russet canopy.

Walter Scott, The Lady of the Lake	Canto I Stanza XXVI

Rushes and reeds usually appear in the Schubert song texts in connection with (gentle) sound and (slight) movement rather than as building materials, though.

Müller’s miller imagines sending a message to his unattainable beloved telling her (falsely) that he is happily playing a reed pipe and joyfully playing for dances.

Geh Bächlein hin und sag ihr das, doch sag ihr nicht,
Hörst du, kein Wort, von meinem traurigen Gesicht,
Sag ihr: Er schnitzt bei mir sich eine Pfeif aus Rohr
Und bläst den Kindern schöne Tänz und Lieder vor.

Go off, dear little river, and talk to her, but do not tell her
Anything about my sad face, not a word, do you hear?
Say to her, "He has been sitting next to me cutting a reed pipe,
And he is blowing on it, playing beautiful dances and songs for the children."

Müller, Eifersucht und Stolz		D 795/15

In Ossian’s Cronnan Shilric observes the approach of Vinvela’s ghost, but her voice is faint, ‘like the breeze in the reeds of the lake.’

But is it she that there appears, 
like a beam of light on the heath? 
Bright as the moon in autumn,
as the sun in a summer storm, comest thou, 
O maid, over rocks, over mountains to me.
She speaks: but how weak her voice, 
like the breeze in the reeds of the lake.

Macpherson (Ossian), Cronnan	D 282

As Mayrhofer sits by a lake and remembers the heroic actions of Prince Leopold, who had jumped into floodwaters to save some of his subjects, the bending motion and the melancholy sigh of the reeds make him turn his attention to the depths. He follows the bending reeds.

Sitz ich im Gras am glatten See,
Beschleicht die Seele süßes Weh,
Wie Äolsharfen klingt mich an
Ein unnennbarer Zauberwahn.

Das Schilfrohr neiget seufzend sich,
Die Uferblumen grüßen mich,
Der Vogel klagt, die Lüfte wehn,
Vor Schmerzeslust möcht ich vergehn!

Wie mir das Leben kräftig quillt
Und sich in raschen Strömen spielt.
Wie's bald in trüben Massen gärt
Und bald zum Spiegel sich verklärt.

Bewusstsein meiner tiefsten Kraft
Ein Wonnemeer in mir erschafft.
Ich stürze kühn in seine Flut
Und ringe um das höchste Gut!

* * *

Das Schilfrohr neiget seufzend sich,
Die Uferblumen grüßen mich,
Der Vogel klagt, die Lüfte wehn,
Vor Schmerzeslust möcht' ich vergehn!


When I sit in the grass by the unruffled lake
A sweet pain creeps up on my soul,
As if Aeolian harps were reminding me of
An unutterable magical madness.

The reeds bend over as they sigh,
The flowers on the bank greet me,
The bird laments, the breezes waft,
I feel like dying of blissful melancholy.

How life wells up in me so strongly
And plays around in rapid currents.
How quickly it ferments in cloudy mixtures
And then quickly becomes as clear as a mirror.

Awareness of my deepest power
Creates a sea of joy in me.
I plunge boldly into its flooding waters
And I struggle to attain the highest good.

* * * 

The reeds bend over as they sigh,
The flowers on the bank greet me,
The bird laments, the breezes waft,
I feel like dying of blissful melancholy!

Mayrhofer, Am See	D 124

☙

Descendant of: 

WATER   Plants and vegetation  


Texts with this theme: