Poems By Richard Chenevix Trench: New ed |
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THE LOREY-LEY. |
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37
THE LOREY-LEY.
What makes me so heavy-hearted,
I ask of my heart in vain:
But a tale of the times departed
Haunts ever my heart and brain.
I ask of my heart in vain:
But a tale of the times departed
Haunts ever my heart and brain.
In the cool air it waxes dimmer,
And quietly flows the Rhine:
And the mountain summits glimmer
In the sunny evening shine.
And quietly flows the Rhine:
And the mountain summits glimmer
In the sunny evening shine.
There sits on the rocks a maiden,
In marvellous beauty there;
With gold her apparel is laden,
And she combs her golden hair:
In marvellous beauty there;
With gold her apparel is laden,
And she combs her golden hair:
And the comb is of gold and glistens,
And thereto she sings a song,
Which for every soul that listens
Has a potent spell and strong.
And thereto she sings a song,
Which for every soul that listens
Has a potent spell and strong.
The boatman in light boat speeding,
When he hears it utters a cry,
No longer the rapids heeding,
But only gazing on high.
When he hears it utters a cry,
No longer the rapids heeding,
But only gazing on high.
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The stream is its wild waves flinging
O'er boat and boatman anon,
And 'tis this with her fairy singing
That the Lorey-ley has done.
O'er boat and boatman anon,
And 'tis this with her fairy singing
That the Lorey-ley has done.
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