There—Pearl of Beauty! lightly press,
With yielding form, the yielding sand;
And while you lift the rosy shells,
Within your dear and dainty hand,
Or toss them to the heedless waves.
That reck not how your treasures shine,
As oft you waste on careless hearts
Your fancies, touched with light divine,
I'll sing a lay—more wild than gay—
The story of a magic flute;
And as I sing, the waves shall play
An ordered tune, the song to suit.
In silence flowed our grand old Rhine;
For on his breast a picture burned,
The loveliest of all scenes that shine
Where'er his glorious course has turned.
That radiant morn the peasants saw
A wondrous vision rise in light,
They gazed, with blended joy and awe—
A castle crowned the beetling height!
Far up amid the amber mist,
That softly wreathes each mountain-spire,
The sky its clustered columns kissed,
And touched their snow with golden fire;
The vapor parts—against the skies,
In delicate tracery on the blue,
Those graceful turrets lightly rise,
As if to music there they grew!
And issuing from its portal fair,
A youth descends the dizzy steps;
The sunrise gilds his waving hair,
From rock to rock he lightly leaps—
He comes—the radiant, angel-boy!
He moves with more than human grace;
His eyes are filled with earnest joy,
And Heaven is in his beauteous face.