't was an eve in late summer, autumn was nigh

still a warm sun did colour the sky

The meadows did shine in a strange golden light

and vales did forth the soft haze of night

When through the air a voice did resound

beckoning the shepherd to rise from the ground

The shepherd:

'What sweet voice does sing in such a woebegone tone?

What maiden does wander the heather alone?'

Bewitched by its tone, he followed her song,

whilst the sun did descend and the shadows grew long

In the dim light of dusk, near the sparkling cascade

on a moss covered stone sat a crying young maid

The shepherd:

'Why art thou dreary? What happened to thee?

What song didst thou sing so woefully?'

The maiden:

'Go whither O shepherd! Don't sadden thine heart

Thou canst not help me - not thou who thou art!

An old man who's been born in a cradle of wood

of a tree that at least a hundred years stood,

cut by a boy who at heart was still pure -

might be my redeemer if he knew that he could...