From the German. Whither?

(Wohin?)
By Wilhelm Müller

I HEARD a brooklet gushing

From its rocky fountain 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 do I say of a murmur?

That can no murmur be;

’T is 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 going

In every brooklet clear.