I blow my horn

I blow my horn into the vale of tears:

My joy has vanished.

I have hunted, but I must cease

For the deer runs beyond the hounds.

A noble beast in this field

I had selected;

It has fled me, as I sense well.

My hunt is lost.

Farewell, deer, find joy in the forest!

I will never frighten

your snow-white breast with my hunting;

It is for another to awaken you

With hunter's calls and snapping hounds,

That you may not outrun:

Beware, my little beast!

With sorrow I bid this place adieu.

I cannot capture any noble game,

For which I often suffer,

Yet I constantly follow the hunter's paths,

and seldom does luck come to me.

If I am not honored with a noble deer,

Then let me be satisfied

With a hare; nothing more do I demand,

And it will not trouble me.