- Original Translation
The Knight of Toggenburg (1797) - Friedrich Schiller
Sir knight, I can a sister's love
Happily offer you,
But any other kind love
Would not be true.
Softly I can appear to you,
And softly you may go,
But weeping eyes with flowery dew,
Those I cannot know.
And this he hears as his heart tears
Open - his heart strings bleed!
He holds her dear, besieged with fears
Then rides upon his steed.
He gathers all his gallant men
In the land of Switzerland;
Towards the holy grave they wend
With crosses tightly fastened.
So many deeds were valiantly done
By the heroic arm,
The noble plumes blown through the storm
Made foes retreat from harm.
And the Toggenburger’s name
Scared every Saracen,
Yet his heart, from its lonely grave,
No longer can ascend.
For one long year he’s carried on,
But no more can he strive,
Thus losing hope he can’t hang on
To home he must now drive.
A ship he see’s on Jopa’s strand
Its sails are fiercely swelling,
It takes him back to his dear land
Where his love is dwelling.
At his beloved’s castle gate
He finds himself once more,
But ah! will this wonderous fate
Open her castle door?
“The one you seek now wears the veil,
Her vows are made to heaven;
The celebrations we did hail
Just yesterday at even.”
From father’s castle he departs
And this time forever,
No more to touch a sword or darts,
His beaver's noble feather.
Upon the solitary roads
The knight travels unseen,
As he sports his repentant robes
That cast a mournful sheen.
He sets out to erect his shed
Close to those monasteries
Where over each hill is spread
Those lovely linden trees.
From when the morning rays first race
Until at night they’ve flown,
Hope gently paints his youthful face
As he sits all alone.
He gazed upon the convent there,
There he looked for hours;
Through the window he did stare
In hope of starry showers,
In hope those twinkling eyes appear,
In hope of that fair face,
Ascending from that valley dear,
That look of angel-grace.
He happily lies himself down
And finally takes his rest,
For joyfully again tomorrow
Again to make his test.
And so he sits for many a day
Sitting for many years,
Until he sees that morning gay
When her sweet face appears.
In hope those twinkling eyes appear,
In hope of that fair face,
Ascending from that valley dear,
That look of angel-grace.
And so he lies, a corpse all pale,
Still many mornings there,
Towards that window now so frail,
With cold and silent stare.
Translation © David B. Gosselin
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