"Harmonieen hör' ich klingen,
Töne süsser Himmelsrüh."
"Harmonies I hear resounding,
Tones of sweet, heavenly music."
Why dost thou sit so lonely on the declivity of the mountain, innocent daughter of the Felsenburg? Why does the cloud of care rest on thy countenance? Why dost thou gaze with such sad longing into the vale below?
The light of thy eyes is dimmed by a tear; heavy and anxious rests thy curly head on thy snowy arm; as the heavenly glory crowns the head of a martyred saint, so the splendour of sunset bathes thy form. Deep and great must be the anguish that fills thy breast, and yet thou dost endure speechless and silent. Not a sigh breaks from thy swelling heart, not a lament from thy lips, not a sad note from the strings of the lute that lies hushed before thee.
Weep no longer, child of grief; brighten thy saddened countenance. He for whom thou art waiting, the beloved of thy soul, will come; he will come with the quick step of love, and his glance will chase away grief and care from thy soul.
Hark! Already it rustles in the wood, already his tread resounds on the rocks; he climbs the mountain.
With the bliss of the purest love he clasps the sorrowing maiden in his strong arms—and yet thou remainest in mourning and tears?
Fairest of the blue-eyed daughters of the Harz, is thy heart cold in presence of the flame of love, as the ice of the Brocken is proof against the sun of the spring-time?
Ah! not cold and hard was her heart; pure and tender, as the dewdrops in the lily, it lay in her innocent breast, and adorned the morning of her life, till the sunny fire of love smiled down upon her. Then a never-before-imagined bliss trembled through the pure flower, her heart was filled with joy, the clear dewdrop dissolved in love. The dewdrop belongs to the sunbeams, and the heart of the maiden to the youth she loves.
But fate was not favourable to the lovers—fate, the destroyer of so many blissful bonds.