Lore-Lei

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

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

The queenliest maiden beameth In 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 bringing The boatman and boat to naught; And this with her fateful singing The Lore-Lei hath wrought.