Father! Within the forest's bound
No bird I found,
No sound of song the woods around.
The bird that glad his song us gave,
Flies o'er the wave;
Perhaps he there will find his grave.
But why does he not wait till later?
He goes where light and warmth are greater
Father! It selfish seems to me,
Far off to flee,
When all we others here must be.
With new-born spring comes new-born song;
By instinct strong
The better new he'll bring erelong.
But if in death the cold waves swallow-?
Others will come; his kin will follow.