In the leafy tent of yon linden high!
Their secret he guards the springtime through,
And he smiles when he hears the young ones call;
“Never had birdlings a cradle like theirs—
Surely to them can no harm befall!”
When the leaves are flying and birds are flown,
’Tis out on the linden bough he swings—
The fearless lad that he is—and thence,
A wonderful nest of steel he brings!
It yet may be seen in the town of Soleure,