I see the angry pride that fills thy breast, And yet thy lot is wretched e'en as mine. That mouth it quivers with its secret woes, 'Tis fated, love, we both must wretched be. SONG. AND did but the little flowers How deeply thou woundest me know, Their tears with mine in showers, To heal my grief, would flow. And if the nightingales found me So weary and sad and ill, They would the air around me With joyous melody fill. And if my sorrow unending The golden stars could see, They'd come from their heights, descending, And whisper comfort to me. They know not what still is unspoken, One only my grief can divine, And she it is who has broken, Yes! broken this heart of mine. ANOTHER. DOES not my pallid face to thee Betray my true love sorrow, And wouldst thou that this haughty mouth A beggar's words should borrow? Ah no! this mouth, too proud, could naught But jests or kisses cherish; 'Twould speak perchance a scornful word, While I for grief did perish. THE WATER-LILY. THE slender water-lily Looks up from the lake below; The moon looks down to greet her With shining lover's woe. Adown to the quiet waters She bends in her coy disdain, And there at her feet beholdeth Her poor pale wooer again. L THE LURELEI. I KNOW not wherefore is beating My heart so sadly to-day, And ever I go repeating A mystical fairy lay. The evening breezes are blowing, The Rhine flows peacefully by, The mountain summits are glowing Beneath the sunset sky. On highest rock reclineth A maiden wondrous fair; The gold of her raiment shineth, She combeth her golden hair. She combs it with comb all golden, And sings the while a song, That has a melody olden, Enchanted, wondrously strong. The fisher who hears it o'er him, But upwards he gazes still. I fear me the waves will devour The boat and the fisher ere long, And this has been wrought by the power Of the Lurelei's magic song. |