The spirits on Lake Mummel
Hugo Wolf
What comes from the mountain at midnight so late
And carries such glittering torches?
Perhaps they are bound for a dance or a feast?
The songs seem to ring out so joyful.
Oh, no!
Pray tell, then, what might all this be?
What you see here is a funeral train;
The sound that you hear, lamentation.
The king, a magician, they lay him to rest,
They bring him, they carry him back.
Oh, dear!
It must be the ghosts of the lake!
They float in the vale of the flowery lake -
Already they step on its surface -
Their feet do not stir it and never get wet -
They rustle in soft-spoken prayers -
Oh, look!
At the coffin the luminous She!
And now the lake opens a shining green gate;
Look sharp, they are now going under!
A staircase, alive, wavers out from the depths,
And songs are soon humming beneath.
Oh, hear!
They sing him to rest now below.
The waters, how lovely they sparkle and burn!
They sport in a green-tinted fire;
The mist, like a wraith, hovers over the shore,
The pond is changed into a sea,
So calm!
Will nothing else stir itself there?
It shakes in the middle - dear heavens! oh, help!
They're all coming back, they are coming!
They clank in the cattails and call in the reeds;
Now spryly take flight while you can!
Away!
They'll scent me and snatch at me soon!