Hark, hark to yon ravishing music divine,
resounding among the wild rocks of the Rhine,
so spell-bearing, thrilling and moving!
What witchery dwells in that song?
The echoes repeat it, as loving
so dulcet a strain to prolong.
As if all the mermaids of ocean,
all Sylphids of air had combin'd
their magic, to melt with emotion
and carry away the rapt mind!
'T is she, Loreley! By the beaming
sweet smile, and the fair form of light!
Ah see! O'er her golden lyre streamig
her locks still more golden and bright!

All earth's nightingales seem to her lips to have flown
and mingled their warblings in each honied tone.

She sings: Fisher, steer thy bark hither,
thy net shall a treasure enfold!
Pearl-garlands that never can wither
and fishes all silver and gold!
O come, Ritter, come to my palace
beneath the blue Rhine, gallant knight!
O taste of my nectarous chalice,
that chalice of love and delight.
I'll lull thee to sleep with my singing
and wake thee perchance with a kiss,
with one of those balm-kisses, bringing
to mortals Elysian bliss!

She beckons; her voice and her smile grow more sweet;
oh turn thy boat quickly, rash fisher, retreat!
For the first time, Sir knight, fly the foe! Fatal snare!
If ye pause, if ye list to the Syren - beware!