A finch sat in a dark hedge,
Saw the bright border of the cloud,
Flew out from its hiding place
Onto a bright fir tree;

It wanted to have a wide view
Over the mountain and over the valley,
And wanted to thrust out its breast and refresh itself
In the golden sunbeam;

A bird of prey came a-flying
From the grey tower of the cliff,
It soared high in a wide circle,
Plunged downward like a sudden storm;

It seized the finch tightly
In the grip of its talons,
With its crossed beak it 
Pecked out both of the finch’s eyes;

The hunter came rapidly by
The place where the blind bird lay twitching,
He took it up to tend to it,
But the finch said to him:

If I can no longer see the day
That my happy song used to greet,
I gladly go to my grave;
[Thus] spoke the finch and died.