Now we hear the Spring's sweet voice
      Singing gladly through the world;
Bidding all the earth rejoice.

   All is merry in the field,
      Flowers grow amidst the grass,
Blossoms blue, red, white they yield.

   As I seek my maiden true,
      Sings the little lark on high
Fain to send her praises due.

   As I climb and reach her door,
      Ah! I see a rival there,
So farewell! for evermore.

   Ever true was I to thee,
      Never grieved or vexed thee, love,
False, oh! false, art thou of me.

   Now amid the forest green,
      Far from cruel eyes that mock
Will I dwell unloved, unseen.