Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 1048

The wind is hushed, the stars grow pale,

The pensive moon her light doth veil;

And whirling on, the magic choir

Sputters forth sparks of drizzling fire.

VOICE (from below)

Stay! stay!

VOICE (from above)

What voice of woe

Calls from the cavern'd depths below?

VOICE (from below)

Take me with you! Oh take me too!

Three centuries I climb in vain,

And yet can ne'er the summit gain!

To be with my kindred I am fain.