"O that I to my country, And to my love were borne; O home in dear old Rhine-land, For thee my heart is torn!" III. Bewitched I am by the summer night, In silent thought I am riding; Bright glow-worms through the thicket fly Like happy dreams, which in times gone by My longing heart were delighting. Bewitched I am by the summer night. In silent thought I am riding; The golden stars shine so far and bright, In the water's fair bosom is mirrored their light, As, in Time's deep sea, love abiding. Bewitched I am by the summer night, In silent thought I am riding; The nightingale sings from the myrtle tree, He warbles so meltingly, tenderly, As if Fate his heart had been blighting. Bewitched I am by the summer night, In silent thought I am riding; The sea rises high, the waves do frown; Wherefore these useless tears which down The rider's wan cheeks are gliding? IV. 'Neath the waves the sun is going, With bright hues the sky is glowing, Twilight o'er the earth is stealing, Far-off evening bells are pealing: Thee I think of, Margaretta. On the rocky crag I'm lying, Stranger in a strange land sighing; Round my feet the waves are dancing, Through my soul float dreams entrancing: Thee I think of, Margaretta. V. Oh Roman girl, why lookest thou At me with burning glances? Thine eye, though beautiful it be, The stranger ne'er entrances. Beyond the Alps there is a grave, The Rhine watch o'er it keepeth; And three wild roses bloom thereon; Therein my love-dream sleepeth. Oh Roman girl, why lookest thou At me with burning glances? Thine eye, though beautiful it be, The stranger ne'er entrances. VI. Outside the gates when walking, I see of life no trace; There is the wide-spread graveyard Of the ancient Roman race. They rest from love and hatred, From pleasure, strife, and guilt; There in the Appian Way are Their tombs of marble built A tower greets me, gilded By the setting sun's last rays-- Caecilia Metella, At thy proud tomb I gaze. My eyes are turning northward, As 'mid this pile I stand; My thoughts are swiftly flying Far from this southern land, On to another tower, With stones of smaller size; By the shady vine-clad window I see my love's sweet eyes. VII. The world lies now encircled By the frosty winter night. No use that by the hearth-stone I think of love's sad flight.