In which she shone back at the guests with a festival of her own;
The blossoming trees smiled so sweetly at every one,
That heart and mind smiled back again.
The pure notes of the birds, blessed and beautiful,
Touched heart and senses, filling hill and dale with joy.
The dear nightingale,
Sweet bird, may it ever be blessed!
Sang so lustily upon the bough
That many a heart was filled with joy and good humour.
There the company pitched itself