Who taught you the word ye are singing,
Ye birds in the branches on high?
O hush! when my heart hears it ringing,
It makes it more mournfully sigh.
“A fair young maiden ’twas taught it,
“Who came here, and sang like a bird;
“And so we birds easily caught it,
“That pretty, golden word.”
No more shall this story deceive me,
Ye birds, so wondrously sly:
Of my sorrow ye fain would bereave me,
On your friendship I cannot rely.
4.
Sweet love, lay thy hand on my heart, and tell
If thou hearest the knocks in that narrow cell?
There dwells there a carpenter, cunning is he,
And slily he’s hewing a coffin for me.
He hammers and knocks by day and by night,
My slumber already has banish’d outright;
Oh, Master Carpenter, prythee make haste,
That I some slumber at length may taste.
5.
Beauteous cradle of my sorrow,
Beauteous grave of all my peace,
Beauteous town, we part to-morrow,
Fare thee well, our ties must cease!
Fare thee well, thou threshold holy,
Where my loved one sets her feet!
Fare thee well, thou spot so holy,
Where we chanced at first to meet!
Would that we had been for ever
Strangers, queen of hearts so fair!
Then it would have happen’d never
That I’m driven to despair.