"Der Wanderer" (D 489) [formerly D 493] is alied composed byFranz Schubert in October 1816 for voice and piano. A revised version was published near the end of May 1821 asopus 4, number 1. The words are taken from a German poem byGeorg Philipp Schmidt (von Lübeck).[1] The lied is set in thekey ofC-sharp minor with thetempo markingsehr langsam (very slow) and thetime signature alla breve. The piece has a total of 72measures. Schubert wrote another lied entitled "Der Wanderer;" it is numbered D.649.
The song begins with arecitative, describing the setting: mountains, a steaming valley, the roaring sea. The wanderer is strolling quietly, unhappily, and asks, sighing, the question: "where?"
The next section, consisting of 8bars of a slow melody sung inpianissimo, describes the feelings of the wanderer: the sun seems cold, the blossom withered, life old. The wanderer expresses the conviction of being a stranger everywhere. This 8-bar section was later used by Schubert astheme on which hisWanderer Fantasy is based.
Next the music shifts to the key ofE major, the tempo increases and the time signature changes to6/8. The wanderer asks: "where are you my beloved land?" This place the wanderer longs for is described as green with hope, "the land where my roses bloom, my friends stroll, my dead rise" and, finally, "the land which speaks my language, Oh land, where are you?" Towards the end of this section, the music gets quite animated and forms the climax of the song.
Finally, the music returns to the original minor key and slow tempo. After quoting the question "where?" from the opening, the song closes with a "ghostly breath" finally answering the question: "There where you are not, there is happiness." The song closes in the key of E major.
Ich komme vom Gebirge her,
Es dampft das Tal, es braust das Meer.
Ich wandle still, bin wenig froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer, wo?
Die Sonne dünkt mich hier so kalt,
Die Blüte welk, das Leben alt,
Und was sie reden, leerer Schall;
Ich bin ein Fremdling überall.
Wo bist du, mein geliebtes Land?
Gesucht, geahnt, und nie gekannt!
Das Land, das Land so hoffnungsgrün,
Das Land, wo meine Rosen blühn.
Wo meine Träume wandeln gehn,
Wo meine Toten auferstehn,
Das Land, das meine Sprache spricht,
O Land, wo bist du? . . .
Ich wandle still, bin wenig froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer, wo?
Im Geisterhauch tönt's mir zurück:
"Dort, wo du nicht bist, dort ist das Glück."
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