(13 December 1797 – 17 February 1856 / Dusseldorf)

Ich Weiss Nicht, Was Soll Es Bedeuten

I don’t know what it could mean,
Or why I’m so sad: I find,
A fairy-tale, from times unseen,
Won’t vanish from my mind.
The air is cool and it darkens,
And quiet flows the Rhine:
The tops of the mountains sparkle,
In evening’s after-shine.
The loveliest of maidens,
She’s wonderful, sits there,
Her golden jewels glisten,
She combs her golden hair.
She combs it with a comb of gold,
And sings a song as well:
Its strangeness too is old
And casts a powerful spell.
It grips the boatman in his boat
With a wild pang of woe:
He only looks up to the heights,
Can’t see the rocks below.
The waves end by swallowing
The boat and its boatman,
That’s what, by her singing,
The Lorelei has done.

User Rating: 2,4 / 5 ( 10 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

'The loveliest of maidens, She’s wonderful, sits there, Her golden jewels glisten, She combs her golden hair. She combs it with a comb of gold, And sings a song as well: Its strangeness too is old And casts a powerful spell. It grips the boatman in his boat With a wild pang of woe: He only looks up to the heights, Can’t see the rocks below.' As Heine writes, tis is indeed 'A fairy-tale, from times unseen, ' because Heine has written a modernized Rhine versiom of the classical Greek sirens, singing and luring sailors not boatmen to death on rocks, interesting.