The Neckar

Friedrich Hölderlin

Homecoming

1. 

It is still bright night in the Alps, and a cloud, 

  Authoring joyfulness, covers the yawning valley. 

Playful mountain breezes rush and toss about, and a ray 

  Of light shines abruptly through the firs and disappears. 

Chaos, quivering with joy, hurries slowly to do battle. 

  Young in form, yet strong, it celebrates a loving quarrel 

Among the cliffs.  It ferments and shakes within its eternal 

  Limits, for the morning accelerates in ecstatic dance. 

The year advances more rapidly out there, and the holy hours, 

  The days, are more boldly ordered and mixed. 

A storm bird marks the time, and stays high in the air 

  Between the mountains, announcing the day. 

Now the little village awakens down below.  Fearless, 

  Familiar with the heights, it peers up beyond the treetops. 

It senses the growth, for the ancient streams fall like lightning, 

  And the ground yields fine mists under the crashing waters. 

Echo resounds, and the vast workplace flexes its arm, 

  Sending forth its gifts, by day and by night. 

2. 

Peaks of silver shine silently above, 

  And the sparkling snow is full of roses. 

Still higher above the light lives the god, pure 

  And holy, pleased with the divine play of light beams. 

He lives there quietly and alone: his face is bright. 

  At home in the ether he seems ready to grant life 

And create joy for us.  Gradually and sparingly, 

  Remembering the necessity for moderation and the needs 

Of the living, he sends true happiness to the cities 

  And houses, and mild rains to open the countryside, 

And soft breezes and gentle seasons of spring. 

  With a gentle hand he cheers the saddened, 

Renews the seasons, the creative one, refreshes 

  And touches the quiet hearts of the elderly. 

Down into the deep his influence extends: it 

  Reveals and illumines, just as he pleases. 

And now life begins again.  Gracefulness 

  Flourishes as it did before, and the Spirit 

Is present and approaches, and a joyful 

  Disposition fills its wings. 

3. 

I had much to say to him, for whatever poets think 

  Or sing about is addressed mainly to him and his angels. 

I asked him for much, out of love to the Fatherland, 

  So the Spirit wouldn't suddenly fall upon us unbidden. 

I prayed much for you too, my landspeople, who have cares 

  Inside the Fatherland: to whom holy gratitude, smiling, brings 

Back the exiles. At the same time the lake rocked my boat, 

  And the steersman sat quietly and approved our journey. 

Far on the lake's surface joyous waves surged under the sails, 

  And now the city rises brightly in the early morning, 

And our boat came well guided from the shaded Alps 

  To rest in the harbor.  Here the shore is warm 

And the open valleys are friendly, brightened by 

  Beautiful pathways, flourishing and shining toward me. 

Gardens lie round about, bright buds open, the song of birds 

  Welcomes the wanderer.  Everything seems familiar; 

Even people passing by greet each other as if they were 

  Friends, and every face appears like kin. 

4. 

But of course, this is the land of your birth, the soil 

  Of your own country: what you seek is close by and 

Rises to meet you.  The traveller stands before you, 

  O happy Lindau, surrounded by waves, like a son 

At your door affectionately singing your praises. 

  This is a welcoming gate to the nation, inviting you 

To travel forth into the distance, a place of promises 

  And miracles, where the Rhine, like a mythological 

Animal, breaks its way downwards into the plains, 

  And the jubilant valley leads through the bright 

Mountains toward Como, or off toward the open sea 

  In the direction of the sun.  But the sacred 

Gateway prompts me to go on home instead, 

  Where the busy highways are familiar to me, 

To visit the countryside and beautiful valleys 

  Of the Neckar, and the forests, where godlike green 

Oak and beech trees and silent birches gather, and 

  A friendly spot in the mountains still holds me captive. 

5. 

Dear friends are there to welcome me. 

  O voice of the city, voice of my mother! 

You touch and awaken what I learned long ago. 

  But it's really them: sun and joy shine for you, 

My dear ones, almost brighter than ever in your eyes. 

  Yes, it's still the same.  It thrives and ripens, 

For nothing that lives and loves relinquishes loyalty. 

  Best of all, this treasure, which rests under the arch 

Of holy peace, is reserved for young and old alike. 

  I speak foolishly. It's pure joy.  But tomorrow 

And after, when we go out and view the living fields, 

  When the trees are blossoming on Spring holidays, 

I'll speak and share my hopes with you, dear friends. 

  I've heard much about our great Father, but I've said 

Nothing.  He renews passing time above in the heights, 

  And he reigns over mountains.  He'll soon bestow heavenly 

Gifts and call for brighter song and send many good spirits. 

  Come, you preservers! Angels of the year! And you, 

6. 

Angels of the house, come!  May the power of Heaven spread 

  Through all the veins of life, ennobling and invigorating 

And dispensing joy!  So that joyful angels attend upon 

  Human goodness every hour of the day, and that 

Such joy as I experience now, when loved ones 

  Are properly reunited, be suitably sanctified. 

When we bless the meal, upon whom shall I call, 

  And when we rest after the day's activity, tell me, 

How will I offer thanks?  Should I call the Highest by name? 

  A god doesn't like what is inappropriate.  Maybe our joy 

Isn't big enough to grasp him.  We must often remain silent, 

  A sacred language is missing — hearts are beating and yet 

Speech can't emerge?  But the sound of string music 

  Resonates hour by hour, and perhaps that pleases 

The approaching gods.  Begin the music, and the worries 

  Almost vanish which would have affected our joy. 

Willingly or not, poets must often concern themselves 

  With such things, but not with others.

The Neckar

My heart awakened to life in your valleys,

  Your waves played around me.

      And all of the fair hills that know you,

        Wayfarer, are known to me as well.

On those peaks the winds from the sky

  Relieved me from pains of bondage,

      And silver-blue waves shone forth from the valley,

        Like the joy of life pouring out from a chalice.

Mountain springs hurried down to you,

  My heart with them, and you took us along

      To the quietly splendid Rhine, down

        To its cities and pleasant islands.

The world seems to me yet beautiful, and my eyes

  Search out with desire the charms of the earth,

      To golden Paktolos, to Smyrna's shores,

          To Ilion's woods.  How I'd like to

Go ashore at Sunium, and ask for the silent road

  To your pillars, Olympia!  Before age

      And storm winds bury you as well

        In the ruins of Athens' temples,

Along with the statues of its gods.  For you

  Have long stood alone, pride of a world

      That no longer exists.  And the beautiful

        Islands of Ionia, where sea air

Cools the hot shores and rushes through the woods

  Of laurel, when the sun warms the grapevines,

      And, oh, where golden autumn changes

        The sighs of the poor people into songs,

When the pomegranate ripens, when the orange trees

  Nod in a green night, and the gum trees drip

      Resin, and drums and cymbals resound

        To labyrinthine dances.

Perhaps someday my guardian deity will bring me 

    To these islands, but even then my thoughts 

      Would remain loyal to the Neckar

        With its lovely meadows and pastoral shores.

© Translated by James Mitchell