Poems (Waldenburg)/The Lorelei

THE LORELEI.

There towers a mighty rock,
O'er the silver flowing Rhine;
Will you hear its story told you,
In these poor words of mine?

The air is dark and glow'ring,
The wind is stirring cool,
And in the fire of setting sun
Glides weird the dark whirlpool.

On the rock that towers above it
Sits a siren, young and fair,
With silver garments shining,
She twines her golden hair.

And as its waving ripples
O'er shoulders white are blown,
Her hands gleam snowy white,
One clasps a golden comb.

And among the waves of hair
She threads it to and fro
Down looking with her eyes of blue
Upon the waves below.

Ever singing a song so sweet,
Oh woe! that it should be
Of such a witching power,
The siren's melody!

A sailor, in tiny vessel,
That smoothly glides along,
Droppeth his faithful oar,
To listen to her song;

And gazing with eager eyes
On her of the golden hair,
He heedeth nor seeth not,
That the deadly whirr is there!

Ever nearer and nearer he glides,
Still ever gazing above,
Dreaming how fair she must be
And how he can win her love.

Oh the mouth of the whirlpool
Gapes so wide adown!
And the bright eyed sailor
And tiny boat have gone!

But she never ceaseth her song,
She gives no cry,
Oh false and cruel hearted
The maid of the Lorelei!