Songs

I heard a brooklet gushing,
From its rocky fountains near.
Down into the valley rushing,
So fresh and wondrous clear.

I know not what came o'er me,
Nor who the counsel gave,
But I must hasten downward,
All with my pilgrim stave.

Downward and ever farther,
And ever the brook beside.
And ever fresher murmured,
And ever clearer the tide.

Is this the way I was going?
Whither, O brooklet, say!
Thou hast with thy soft murmur,
Murmured my senses away.

What say I of a murmur,
That can no murmur be.
'Tis the water nymphs that are singing,
Their roundelays under me.

Let them sing, my friend,
Let them murmur,
And wander merrily near.
The wheels of a mill are turning
In ev'ry brooklet clear.


_Based on Wilhelm Müller’s ‘Wohin?’,_
_translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882)_