The Lore-Lei

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 !