The minstrel
Mahler, Gustav
By the willow tree, among cool firs,
Where jackdaws and ravens flutter,
There lay a blond knight
Buried under leaves and flowers.
There it is so calm and fragrant,
As if tears wafter through the air!
O sorrow, woe! O sorrow!
One day a minstrel came that way
And saw a little bone gleaming;
He lifted it up, as if it were a reed,
And began to carve it into a flute.
O minstrel, my dear minstrel,
What strange tales it will tell!
O sorrow, woe! O sorrow!
The minstrel set the flute to his lips
And let it resound:
O miracle, what now began,
What a curious and mournful song!
Its song was so doleful and yet so lovely,
That hearing it might cause one to die!
O sorrow, sorrow!
"Oh minstrel, my dear minstrel
This must I now lament to you:
For a beautifully-colored little flower
Has my brother struck me dead!
In the wood were my young bones bleached,
While my brother courted a lovely wife!"
O sorrow, sorrow, woe!
The minstrel traveled far and wide,
Everywhere playing his song.
"Ah me, ah me, my dear friends,
What will you make of my song?
Up must I go, to the king's hall,
Up to the king's lovely bride!
O sorrow, woe! O sorrow!"