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Senta, my child, I fancied in my arms I held, When of a sudden changeth the wind, And blew a gale, as if in league with Satan’s power; But now the worst is past, and its fury The storm hath spent in fitful blasts.
Es mahnt mich ein unsel’ger Traum! Gott schütze Dich! Satan hat Dich umgarnt. Alas! alas my dream will then come true! May God protect thee! Thou art in Satan’s power. Was schreckt Dich so? What is it that so frightens thee?
Was hör’ ich, Gott, was muss ich sehn! Muss ich dem Ohr, muss ich dem Auge traun! Was hör’ ich, Gott, Senta! Willst Du zu Grunde gehen? Zu mir, zu mir: Du bist in Satans Klau’n! What must I hear! what must I see! Oh, God above! how can this be! Senta, Senta, Thou wilt perish! Come to me! oh, come to me! Thou art in Satan’s power!