I am so sadly inclined,

There is an old tale and its scenes that

Will not depart from my mind.

The air is cool and darkling,

And peaceful flows the Rhine,

The mountain top is sparkling,

The setting sunbeams shine.

The fairest maid is reclining

In wondrous beauty there,

Her golden jewels are shining,

She combs her golden hair.

With a golden comb she is combing,

And sings a song so free,

It casts a spell on the gloaming,

A magical melody.

The boatman listens, and o'er him

Wild-aching passions roll;

He sees but the maiden before him,

He sees not reef or shoal.

I think at last the waves swalls

The boat and the boatman's cry;

And this is the fate that follows