Where the lofty Alps arise,
The Rhine receives his bright pearly waters;
With the waters it receives his own life,
Looks lightheartedly into the distance.

    Threefold there well forth
    Bright waves
    From the lap of the mountains.
    Rush down,
    Gush forth again,
    Unite themselves to a beautiful destiny.

Over sparkling crystal rocks
The floodwaters leap in swift descent,
Then trickle peacefully onward in the green moss,
Unclouded and pure as a mirror;
The alpine rose blooms more beautifully,
Newly watered by the young Rhine.
Steeply downward from the crag
The mountain goat leaps, audacious and merry,
It drinks new spirit and courage
From the pearly waters of the Rhine.
Surging through the valleys, through the meadows,
The river in its course leaves
Everywhere the rich traces of blessing,
New life, new joy blossoms forth!

    There from the heights sounds
    The horn, echoing into the distance;
    There wanders from the verdant heights
    The herd to the surging water-spring.
    The evening glow reddens
    The amiably quiet Rhine,
    Upon his flute the alpine shepherd 
    Plays the melodies of love.
    He gazes into the waves
    With a rhapsodic spirit;
    The waves swell
    And hasten hence:
    Thus he sees the times
    Of love fading
    As waves glide away,
    As billows disappear.

Suddenly the river moves out of tight confines
Into broad Lake Constance,
Sees the quiet waters softly undulating,
Flows through them in loving unity.

    Slowly the barque floats
    Upon the quiet waters.
    Fishermen must keep watch
    While the beloved is resting.
    By the shining of the moon
    Upon the wide lake,
    They row in solitude,
    Feel anxious pain,
    Drift upon the waves
    Without peace and rest,
    Until the nets swell
    With their burden of fish.

But what thwarts the peaceful journey of the river,
What disturbs the safe, free passage?
Do I not hear the loud falling of the waters
As during a wild, raging hurricane?

    Do I not hear a rushing like the howl of a storm,
    A hissing, a billowing, a surging?
    Does not the wave with speedy haste
    Plunge foaming and boiling in its raging?
    But see, from far away, many pilgrims
    Travel to the Rhine Falls,
    They tarry long there and tarry gladly,
    They listen mutely to the eternally wild sound.
    Secretly the maiden flies from the hut,
    Away from the quiet housework,
    With light, winged steps she hastens
    To the oft-visited, familiar place.
    She listens then to the eternally wild sound,
    Confessing her anxious yearning to the floodwaters,
    Hearing in the quiet echoes
    That which otherwise resided deep within her bosom;
    She gazes into the plunging of the white waves
    Until there is a bright sparkling in her blue eyes,
    And then into the mighty arch of the waters
    A bright tear secretly sinks.

Newly calmed, with firm tread,
The river, steadily growing, moves along its sure path;
Between two nations it holds the contested middle,
Innocent of the wild quarrels of the peoples.

    Ah, oft beside the banks of the Rhine 
    Raged the wrath of battle;
    Then there was no rushing of the light silver wave,
    Then there was a rushing of blood!
    And one saw the timid throng of the nymphs
    Hastening into the grottos;
    They do not wish to tarry at such a gruesome spot
    And they hate danger,
    And sadly the Rhine saw its waves redden;
    Its sensitive heart grew rigid
    When brethren increased life's agony for each other
    And blood was the watchword.

But away from these scenes of horror! --
Off toward the golden hills of grapevines
That stretch themselves along the shores,
Let us joyfully go with the joyful ones!

  Ah, life's cheerful moments,
Do not let them hasten past so lightly!
Do not trust dark destiny!
Pick the flowers that bloom only rarely!
Here then, under the roof of golden grapes;
Well guarded by our faithful Rhine,
Gentle joys shall waft about us,
Noble old wine shall flow for us, bubbling!
And at the clinking of the goblet let us sing,
For in singing only, joy rises upward!
Let us sing so that the hills of grapevines resound
Happily and freely to the merry chorus of jubilation.

    Wine is the source
    Of divine power,
    Therefore quickly bring me
    The divine juice!
    And fill the goblets
    With golden wine
    For the merry carouser!
    Wine makes the heart
    So human and gentle!
    Even rock-hard hearts
    Ever dark and wild
    Melt, dissolve
    When goblets pour forth
    The golden wine.

For some time already in full radiance
Many rivers united themselves with the nearby Rhine;
Thus the Neckar with its wreath of ivy
And in its eternally meandering loops the Main. 

    But the familiar waves of the dear Mosel
    One ever saw surging in the distance,
    And the good Rhine
    Still found himself alone.
    "Come and bring me your silver waves"
    He called over to his lovely neighbour,
    "Come! to enliven my gloomy eyes
    Bring me the merry spirit of your waves.
    You shall find it to be good in my castle;
    Pearls and coral,
    Colourful shells from the deepest depths
    Shimmer everywhere.
    Come, oh come, do not tarry any longer,
    Lend an ear to my loud pleading!"
    And she harkened to these lovely tones,
    Flowed nearer, flowed up close.
    And she felt an unfamiliar yearning,
    Until she reached the beloved floodwaters.
    And down into the palace of pearls
    He quickly drew the dear bride;
    Upon the shores there was merriment
    And the rejoicing became loud.
    To the wedding celebration hastened
    All the nymphs of the meadow.
    Fauns, who dwelt not far away,
    Faltering, followed their tracks.
    All the shepherds from the meadows
    Came to see this festival,
    And the vintner led his
    Beautiful vintner-lady thither.
    To the magical sounds of the flutes,
    Happy festive singing rang out,
    And to cymbals and shepherds' pipes
    They danced the colourful roundelay.

And the doubled river flows ever farther,
Turning the barren sand into a meadow of flowers.
Majestically, peacefully, pure and limpid,
It nears the distant shore of the sea.

    But it is not to end in its full glory:
    Just as it leapt forth threefold from the water-springs,
    Thus that which flowed through life with it in union
    It must offer up again in three parts.
    Yonder where the ocean billows swell,
    Wakeful to its last breath,
    It leads its last faithful waves
    Small and weakened through the double division;
    Gaze upon the sea, the mighty rising of the waters
    And the surf upon the precipitous shoreline
    Harkens to the dull, dreary silence all around,
    Then, plucking up courage for the last step,
    It offers its well-loved waves to fate,
    Pours them into the wild waters of the sea;
    Only once more it turns its gaze,
    Then it sinks and rests in its ocean grave.