  Before thy door the bright, green corn Bends o'er the pebbly path, Its blooming flowers are not yet born Two doves coo in the math. Comes tripping by a village lass: Her skirts are wet with dew, Has she been raking the moistened grass? Oh, I am far from you. My sweetheart, I'm as far from you As I have been for years, Of her I ask each stranger new, No tidings reach my ears. O'er the lone prairie the wind whistles cold, The young shepherd sadly follows his way. "Where is your flock?" Oh, my sheep I have sold." "Where is your gayety?" Vanished away." "Your sheep you have sold! Why did you so?" "Because on earth I shall need nothing more." "Why did your light heart to a sad one grow?" "Because my false love has wounded it sore." "God guard you, dear prairie, and comrades brave, My reed pipe again I shall never play." O'er the lone prairie the bitter winds rave, The young shepherd sadly follows his way. May beetle, golden beetle; I do not ask when summer will come; I do not ask how long I shall live, I only ask for my rose in bloom. May beetle, golden beetle; I do not ask for the summer's light, For a summer's fire in my heart has burned, Since my rose first flamed upon my sight. The time will come, the time will come, When you will come to weep before the house; When you will clasp the doorpost of the entrance, In deep regret for your unfaithful vows. The time will come, the time will come, When you will come to weep before my door. Perhaps I may a word or two say to you, But not the words I said to you before. When I was a gallant lad, I'd come from my door with glee; I'd thrill the air with shouts of joy, And the world would know 5t was me. Now I am a graybeard old,, I come from my door with pain, Let me shout as loud as I may, No voice will answer again. The petals of the white rose fall; To-day another weds my rose. Through the wood the violins call, And my heart shuts tight with its woes. The shining star adorns the night, In vain for thee my heart has beat, My star for me has quenched its light, But in my heart its ray is sweet. At Dobreesen flowers a fair rose-tree; It bears a lovely perfumed rose, But what is that lovely rose worth to me, If far beyond my reach it blows. The young postilion is sounding his horn, He brings a letter from my dear. But her letter of gold leaves me forlorn, Since she comes not to meet me here. Down there under the steep hillside, A small apple-tree blooms in pride. Its flowers are fair; its fruit is sweet, A little maiden sits at its feet. She tresses garlands of red and white; On her breast they turn to silver bright. She lifts her eyes to the heavens vast, And sees a wide road winding past. Its borders two like silver gleam, The middle is a golden stream. A lamb walks there with curly bell, On each curl point tinkles a bell. The wild duck broods in the reedy grass, In the meadow rich ripens the corn, But the place where lives a faithful lass I never have found since I was born. In the lonesome night the stars are falling, The young man drags his feet toward the house. Heavy in his heart are voices calling, And hatred of the world his miseries arouse. In the lonesome night the stars are falling, In the white mansion the candle glimmers red. Flowers strew the couch. Oh, the sight appalling! The brown girl in her shroud lies stretched upon her bed. They are sweeping the wide street. The soldiers start marching down A maid of sixteen, red and sweet, Is following out of town. The young captain turns and speaks "What this means I must know." She answers with tear-wet cheeks, "I follow where'er you go." The roads are thick with snow, The black steed gallops wide. His bridle reins hang low In his mad master's ride. The brigand on the steed Breathes deep, and sadly sighs, "I dreamed not, in my need, She'd sell me to the spies. "Of all the brigands cursed, Who rob on the wide plain, The soldiers seek me first, To bind me with a chain. "My father was a thief, My grandfather likewise. To honest life's relief, How can such seed arise?"
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