CHAPTER XV

THE LORELEI

I know not whence it rises, This thought so full of woe: But a tale of the 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 wondrous And powerful melody.

The boatman feels his bosom 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 Lorelei hath done!