Bayard Taylor. Friedrich Silcher.

Moderato. (Air: Die Lorelei.)

1. No long-er spread the sail! No long - er strain the oar!

2. Each morn we see its peaks, Made beau - ti - ful with snow;

3. And still the keel is swift, And still the wind is free,

4. O shipmates, leave the ropes. And what tho' no one steers,

For nev - er yet has blown the gale Will bring us near- er shore.

Each eve its vales and wind - ing creeks, That sleep in mist be - low.

And still as far its moun- tains lift Be - yond th' en-chanted sea.

We sail no fast - er for our hopes, No slow - er for our fears.

The sway-ing keel slides on, The helm o - beys the hand;

At noon we mark the gleam Of tem - ples tall and fair;

Yet vain is all re - turn, Though false the goal be - fore;

How- e'er the bark is blown. Lie down and sleep a - while:

Fast we have sailed from dawn to dawn, Yet nev - er reach the land.

At mid - night watch its bon - fires stream In the au - ro - ral air.

The gale is ev - er dead a - stern, The cur - rent sets to shore.

What prof- its toil, when chance a - lone Can bring us to the isle?