Bird. Thanks, little maiden, for all thy care,
But I love dearly the clear cool air
And my snug little nest in the old oak tree.
Maiden. Little bird, little bird, stay with me!
Bird. Nay, little damsel,—away I’ll fly
To greener fields and warmer sky;
When spring returns with pattering rain,
You’ll hear my merry song again.
Maiden. Little bird, little bird, who’ll guide thee,
Over the hills and over the sea?
Foolish one, come in the house to stay,
For I’m very sure you’ll lose your way.
Bird. Ah, no, little maiden, God guides me,
Over the hills and over the sea.
I will be free as the rushing air,
And sing of sunshine everywhere.
