Still frowns above thy waves, oh Rhine!
The mountain's wild terrific height,
But where has fled the work divine,
That lent its brow a halo-light?
Ah! springing arch and pillar pale
Had melted in the azure air!
And she—the darling of the dale—
She too had gone—but how—and where?
Long years rolled by—and lo! one morn,
Again o'er regal Rhine it came,
That picture from the dream-land borne,
That palace built of frost and flame.
Behold! within its portal gleams
A heavenly shape—oh! rapturous sight!
For lovely as the light of dreams
She glides adown the mountain height!
She comes! the loved, the long-lost maid!
And in her hand the charméd flute;
But ere its mystic tune was played
She spake—the peasants listened mute—
She told how in that instrument
Was chained a world of wingéd dreams;
And how the notes that from it went
Revealed them as with lightning gleams;
And how its music's magic braid
O'er the unwary heart it threw,
Till he or she whose dream it played
Was forced to follow where it drew.
She told how on that marvelous day
Within its changing tune she heard
A forest-fountain's plaintive play,
A silver trill from far-off bird;
And how the sweet tones, in her heart,
Had changed to promises as sweet,
That if she dared with them depart,
Each lovely hope its heaven should meet.