I cannot explain the depression
   that now steals over me;
or why in my mem`ry should freshen
   a legend from dim history.
The air is cool, the light fading,
   and smoothly flows the Rhine.
The peak of the mountain is bathing
   in evening`s sinking sunshine.

The lovely young woman is sitting,
   her wondrous beauty rare.
Her jewellery`s flashing and flitting,
   she`s combing her golden hair.
She combs with a comb of pure gold,
   and sings so beguilingly.
Her song has a magical hold,
   a powerful melody!

The boatman, hearing,is sore distressed
   by a wild and passionate grief.
He gazes above, as if possessed,
   and sees not the perilous reef!
I believe then the rapids nearby
   engulfed the boat and the man;
and, with her singing, the Lorelei
   this tragedy began!