Lore-Lei

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

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

The queenliest maiden beamethIn 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 bringingThe boatman and boat to naught;And this with her fateful singingThe Lore-Lei hath wrought.