It is believed that the harp that sounded for you
Was a siren in ancient times,
Who often lifted herself up from the lap of the sea
To see the lad to whom she had dedicated her heart.

But she pleaded in vain; he would not come,
Her face grew pale, her eyes were full of dew,
Until heaven took her former shape from her,
And transformed the woman into this harp.

Her bosom still rises [and falls], still glows her cheek,
And over her hair, so curly and lovely,
[Her] tears flow so drearily and so fearfully:
Those are now the resounding strings of gold.

And therefore one heard the harp ringing
Now of love, now of sorrow, without choice, without adornment --
Until you came and taught me that I must sing love
When you are near, and sorrow when you are far from me.