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C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Lorelei

By Heinrich Heine (1797–1856)

From the Edinburgh Review

I KNOW not whence it rises,

This thought so full of woe;

But a tale of times departed

Haunts me, and will not go.

The air is cool, and it darkens,

And calmly flows the Rhine;

The mountain peaks are sparkling

In the sunny evening-shine.

And yonder sits a maiden,

The fairest of the fair:

With gold is her garment glittering,

As she combs her golden hair;

With a golden comb she combs it;

And a wild song singeth she,

That melts the heart with a wondrous

And powerful melody.

The boatman feels his bosom

With a nameless longing move;

He sees not the gulfs before him,

His gaze is fixed above;

Till over the boat and boatman

The Rhine’s deep waters run:

And this, with her magic singing,

The Lorelei has done!