Die Lorelei


I do not know the reason why
To sorrow Iím inclined.
A story from the olden days
Is preying on my mind.

Lightís fading and the air is cool
And quiet flows the Rhine,
The mountain topís still glowing
As the sunís last rays decline.

Seated up there, gorgeous,
A maid beyond compare,
Her golden jewellery glitters,
She combs her golden hair.

She combs it with a golden comb
And sings a song betimes,
A song with a strange melody,
With strange and powerful rhymes.

The boatman in his little boat,
Gripped by a savage love,
Does not see the rocky reef,
Sees only whatís above.

I think the waves consumed them,
Boat and boatman, bye and bye.
And thatís what, with her singing,
Was done by Lorelei.