Speak with a tone that is melting with sadness.
Whenever my mistress raises her voice in song,
The fairies of the mountain reëcho the air.
The fishes in the sea dart about rejoicing,
And the sailors on the deck dance gaily as they hear it.
The rocks upon the mountain split themselves asunder
In hearing her voice and seeing her beauty.
When I cast a glance, which rests upon my mistress,
It seems to me I see the queen of all the maidens.
Her dainty hands are mingled with red and with white,