The musician from Prague

With a fiddle on my back,

with my cap in my hand,

let us go Prague musicians

throughout wide Christenland.

Our patron-saint in heaven

is the holy Nepomuk

who stands with starry crown

in the middle of Prague's bridge.

As I passed there,

I have done obeisance,

a prayer to him from within

quite earnestly said.

It is in no book

one has it in one's heart:

Traveling with empty pockets

and satchel in the city.

If the girl could sing,

would be felt drawn with out,

but now it is with hoarse throat,

I must leave home.

Ah, there were moist eyes,

and t'wer not only mine:

I told her: it is not for ever,

beautiful Nannerl, let me go!

And I slipped from her arms,

from the gate, from the house,

I could not look backwards again

until I was out of the city.

So I have sung this song,

and played the fiddle too,

until in the morning_air

my heart felt lighter.

A little bird has heard it,

fly away to my love's ear,

sing to her if she's sad,

this fresh little song!

When I return from far off places,

I'll play a different tune,

In the evening under her window: sweetheart!,

Sweetheart, are you asleep?

I'll wave the full bag highly,

that comes from Music!

the window clinks, the store awakes,

Saint Cäcilia!

Now, all you Prague musicians,

come out with horn and bass,

play the most beautiful wedding_dance!

Tomorrow, we empty a barrel.