The Lorelei
A strange foreboding is o’er me,
My heart is idly fraught;
I have heard of an olden story
That will not out of my thought.
The air is cool and darkling
And the Rhine is still below;
The peak of the mountain is sparkling
In the evening afterglow.
And there sits and there gleams a maiden
Yonder so high and fair,
With golden jewels laden,
Combing her golden hair.
She combs it with a comb that is golden,
And ever singing is she
A song of mysterious olden
And mighty melody.
It seizes with wildest sorrow
The boatman ferrying by,
And he wrecks not of rock or of narrow
And he gazes only on high.
I doubt not, the wave will devour
The boat and the boatman ere long.
And that was the Lorelei’s power,
And that the Lorelei’s song.
Heinrich Heine
(Translated from the German by William Henry Leonard)
