Still does her charming image haunt me
As when at first she met my view!
The lovely and mysterious singing
Within my heart was softly ringing
Till to my eyes the tears came springing,
And what befell me scarce I knew.

A vision came across my senses,
And I was still a guileless child,
Sitting in silence by the light
In my dear mother's chamber bright,
Reading old stories of delight,
Whilst outside night and wind were wild.

To life the ancient legends started;
The knights were rising from their grave,
At Roncesvalles the fray advances,
Sir Roland to the rescue prances,
Followed by scores of valiant lances,
And, ah! by Ganelon the Knave.

An evil bed makes he for Roland,
Whose blood streams forth, whose eyes wax dim;
Scarce to his Kaiser's ears had passed
From the famed horn, the signal-blast,
Ere the pale Knight had breathed his last,
And all my vision died with him.

Then came a stir and loud confusion
That from my dream recalled me so;
The legend from my soul was dying,
'Mid clapping hands, in plaudits vieing,
The hearers endless Bravas crying —
The prima donna curtsied low.