Dialogue on the Paderborn Heath

Hear'st thou not far music ringing,
Viol sweet, and organ sounding?
Many a lovely form is springing,
In you elf-dance flitting, bounding."

"How, my friend? your mind must wander,
Or my hearing 's strangely blunted:
I can hear no fiddling yonder;
Only swine which just now granted."

"Hear'st thou not the bugle pealing?
Hunters blithe through greenwood straying,
Lambs I see o'er meadows stealing,
Shepherds on their reed pipes playing."

"Ah, my friend, your ears are humming:
There 's no pipe or bugle pealing;
I but see a swineherd coming,
And before him pigs a-squealing."

"Hear'st thou not melodious measure,
As a strife of voices singing?
Angels hear if, rapt in pleasure,
Beating time on pinions swinging."

"That which seemed to you so pleasant
Was no heavenly minstrels' striving
Friend, it's just a little peasant
Singing as his geese he's driving!"

"Hear'st thou church-bells as if talking,
Sweetly, strangely, wildly flowing
See the congregation walking,
Calmly to the chapel going!"

"Ah, my friend, it's but the tinkling
From the distant cow-bells given,
As the kine, by starlight twinkling,
Slowly to their stalls are driven."

"See yon fluttering veil, — 0, wonder!
gee, — a beckonuig form advances!
'Tis my loved one standing yonder.
Tearful sorrow in her glances!"

"Ah, my friend, she who approaches
Is Old Liz, from the wood's shadow;
Pale and tottering on her crutches.
She goes limping towards the meadow."

Smile, dear friend, that so I borrow
Torms for such fantastic seeming:
O that all my heart's deep sorrow
Thou couldst turn to idle dreaming!"