"Flows the Rhine as flowing wine,
Bright in its unrest,
Sweet with odors of the vine;
Heaven in its breast."
So the boatman Hugo sung,
Long, long ago,
By the Lurley-berg that hung
In the sunset glow.
At that fateful rock, upraised
From its foamy base,
Suddenly the boatman gazed
With a stricken face.
On its summit, wondrous fair,
Shining angel-wise,
Sat a maid, with golden hair
And beseeching eyes.
From a shoulder's rosy sphere
All the robe that slid,
Ripple bright and water-clear,
Rather show'd than hid.
As her hair her fingers through
(Fingers pearly white)
Slowly pass'd, the diamond dew
Fell and broke in light.
But a gold harp from her feet
Lifted she ere long,
And its music, pulsing sweet,
Fed a wondrous song.
And the boatman, drifting fast,
Listen'd to his cost;
On the rocks before him cast!
In the whirlpool lost!
Then the Lorelei's luring form
Faded from the eye,
As a cloud fades, rosy warm,
In a purple sky.
