Echo, the lovely nymph,
Wanders in the evening
Through meadow and moor,
Lamenting her sorrows alone.
Her beloved never came,
Although he swore he would
Marry the lovely maiden.
Earlier they would walk together
Over meadow and moor
Cooing like turtle-doves
In the heat of a summer day
In the cool of a moonlit night.
Then her beloved left with his fine words,
He left her alone with her aching heart.
The fair maiden searches the heath
For her beloved;
She calls, she listens,
She weeps and shouts
Until she has no voice left
And grows stiff and cold,
Stumbling and afraid,
Through dark woods.
Waking up in the morning,
She has an idea:
To lead travellers astray
By mimicking and mocking,
Just as her beloved led her astray before
With his fine words,
With his windy fables.