I know not whence it rises,
This thought so full of woe ;
But a tale of times departed Haunts me, and will not go.
The air is cool, and it darkens,
And calmly flows the Rhine,
The mountain-peaks are sparkling In the sunny evening-shine.
And yonder sits a maiden,
The fairest of the fair ;
With gold is her garment glittering,
And she combs her golden hair:
With a golden comb she combs it;
And a wild song singeth she,
That melts the heart with a
And powerful melody.
The boatman feels his
With a nameless longing move ;
He sees not the gulfs before him,
His gaze is fixed above,
Till over boat and boatman The Rhine's deep waters run :
And this, with her magic singing,
The Lore-lei has done !
