Who tuned your melodious throats?
You make all the woods and the vallies to ring,
You bring the first news of the earliest spring,
With your loud and your silvery notes.
“Who painted your wings, my pretty, sweet birds,
And taught you to soar in the air?
You rise and you dart through the region of light,
You look down on man from your loftiest height,
And your hearts know no troublesome care.
“And where are your fields, my beautiful birds?