Tragedy. By Heinrich Heine [Translated from the German by Franz Hüffer .] I. O fly with me and be my wife, And on my bosom shelter thee; In far-off countries let my heart Thy fatherland and homestead be. Wilt thou not come I here must die, Then lonely and alone thou art, And even in thy father’s house Strange among strangers feels thy heart. II. There fell a blight in the night of spring, It fell on the soft sweet blue-flowers, They all drooped down and withered. A youth once loved a maiden fair, They both in secret fled from home, Unknown to father and mother. Then they have wandered and roamed so far. They never were led by fortune’s star, They are dead and lost for ever. III. Upon their grave a lime-tree is growing, Where birds are whistling and winds are blowing, There sit at eve in the dark green shade The miller’s lad and his own true maid. The winds are blowing so weak and weary, The birds are singing so sweet and dreary, The chatting lovers—they know not why— Silent become and begin to cry.