“Ah, lovely maid, enchanting maid,
Alas, thou canst not fly!
Down in the vale thou soon shalt fade,
And like a floweret die.
“I’d make thee queen, if thou could’st fly,
Of all my mountains steep;
At night I’d sing thy lullaby,
And in my wings thou’dst sleep.
“Those eyes are like black night to me,
That smile like sunshine bright;