II.
The air is cool and is darkling,
And softly flows the Rhine;
The crest of the mountain is sparkling
In the evening’s calm sunshine.
III.
Yonder at ease reclining
Sits a maiden wondrous fair,
Her golden jewels shining,
As she combs her golden hair.
IV.
With a golden comb she is combing,
And she sings a sad, sweet song,
That through the quiet gloaming,
So strangely floats along!
V.
The doomed in his shallop speeding,
Is seized with a pang of woe;—
He drifts on the rocks, naught heeding,
Save the mountain crest aglow.