In the highlands, brother, there you roam,
From the moors and heath of the highlands.
From weathered cliffs clouds sink heavily
Upon blossoming pastures.
Up there one doesn’t notice a wanderer, nor a tree,
The eagle flies alone in the desolate realm.

A torrent froths into the valley toward the lake, 
the lake in the middle of the forest,
In which is finely mirrored a thirsty deer,
The lake island and cottages.
There a light twinkles and draws you;
You paddle over, to spend the night.

O if only I could roam and hunt with you, 
To paddle and drift on the lake,
To live with you on a remote island
And near you, brother, to remain!
You’re now so far away and sojourn so long
And, brother, how I worry about you!