The nunnery's tower is so strongly built --
Into it they lead the bride of Heaven;
They have broken the staff of judgement,
And immure her into a walled grave. --

  A noble lord rides over the heath:
"What has that poor maiden done to [harm] you?
And though it cost me my life, well then -- so be it,
Death, or the lovely one as my own and free!" --

  The wind, it blows so gently, so quietly;
The weather-vane sings the old lay --
"What echoes do dully? Is it the pounding of a hammer?" --
It must well echo [into]1 the grave of the nun.

  The wind roars so wildly around the tower --
"Weather-vane, what is it you sing into the storm?"
""I sing a sad song of the rose,
For you she glowed, for youshe faded [and perished]!""

  Ah, if I could but play
A song so lovely,
As I would 
Gladly devise it;

  From so deep in my soul,
So deep in my breast,
With all my yearning,
Pain, and joy:

  I would play it
All day long,
Then it should blare
Through wood and hedge!

  [I]1 would play it
All night long,
Then it should echo away
So gently -- so gently!

  The birdlets would quickly
Have to learn it,
And the whole forest
Would have to sing it.

  Then she should hear it
From every tree,
And at night they would surround my love
With music in her dreams!

A lad is riding from Radgon Castle,
He is riding his favourite black steed.

His favourite falcon with the red ribbon
Sits proudly upon his right hand.

And around his hat the rosemary, his favourite flower,
Twines itself into a wreath.
           * * *

And when he came to his beloved's house,
He blew into his horn -- then she came out.

"Where, beloved, may I put my horse so it can rest?"
-- ""Tie it to the linden tree, you dear guest.""

"Where, beloved, may I set down my falcon so it can rest?"
-- ""Set it down in my chamber, dear lad.""

"Where shall I plant the rosemary sprig?"
-- ""Plant it upon my heart, oh most dearly beloved of mine.""
           * * *

  The horse at the linden tree refreshes itself with bran,
The falcon stirs its wings and dreams that it were free,
The rosemary sprig on the maiden's breast,
Burgeons into love and blossoms into kisses, in blissful joy.

I am a poor beggar-boy;
My brother is the moon, --
And around him my sisters move,
The clouds pale and blonde.

My father is the tower, the ramshackle one,
That stands by the frog pond; --
And my mother stands [along the road]1,
The old, hollow oak!

I am a poor beggar-boy;
When I have died, --
Then take me and lay me
Into the ditch beside my mother.

There is the broad vault of my crypt:
The [mighty]2 canopy of heaven; --
[Lamenting]3 over me, my sisters, my brother,
Travel through the world. --

  If I knew, my little bell,
When it would toll,
I would have a little bed
Of gold prepared.

  Little bed, golden yellow,
Crystalline coverlet, --
It should please
Me and the lovely one!

  Above it two wreaths
Twined together, --
Because we two are
United by love.

  Above the wreaths
Two waxen candles, --
So that they may
Light up our hearts.

  In both wreaths
Two tulips, bright white, --
Because she is still a maiden,
I [still] a celibate.

  By every tulip
Two white carnations, --
Because our hearts 
Fade [and perish] so purely.

  And upon the carnations
Green ribbons, --
Because we faded away
While we were still so young.