Littell's Living Age/Volume 141/Issue 1822/Lore-Lei

by Heinrich Heine

I know not what it betideth,
     That I am so sad at heart;
A tale of the past abideth
     In my soul and will not depart.

It is cool and the twilight darkles,
     And peacefully flows the Rhine;
And the brow of the mountain sparkles
     In the flush of the soft sunshine.

The queenliest maiden beameth
     In radiant beauty there;
The gold of her jewels gleameth,
     She combeth her golden hair.

With a golden comb she combeth,
     And singeth the while a song,
That floats, like the wind that roameth,
     In quivering chants along.

The boatman yon frail bark steering,
     Is seized with a wild aifright;
He sees not the cliffs he is nearing,
     He views but the mountain height.

I fear me the waves are bringing
     The boatman and boat to naught;
And this with her fateful singing
     The Lore-Lei hath wrought.