Her fragrant balm the sweet May night O'er hill and vale is breathing, When through the shrubs with footsteps light To the castle I am stealing. In the garden waves the linden-tree, I climb to its green bower, And from the leafy canopy My song soars to the tower: "Young Werner is the happiest youth In the German Empire dwelling, But who bewitched him thus, forsooth, In words he won't be telling. Hurrah! is all that he will say, How lovely is the month of May, Dear love, I send thee greeting!" With joyous trills the nightingale On the topmost bough is singing, While far o'er mountain and o'er vale The thrilling notes are ringing. The birds are looking all about, Awaking from their slumber; From branch, and bush, and hedge burst out Glad voices without number: "Young Werner is the happiest youth In the German Empire dwelling, But who bewitched him thus, forsooth, In words he won't be telling. Hurrah! is all that he will say, How lovely is the month of May, Dear love, I send thee greeting!" The sounds are heard, are borne along By the river downward flowing; And from afar echoes the song, Fainter and fainter growing. And through the air of rosy morn I see two angels winging, Like a harp's sweet tones, from Heaven borne, I hear their voices singing: "Young Werner is the happiest youth In the German Empire dwelling, But who bewitched him thus, forsooth, In words he won't be telling. Hurrah! is all that he will say, How lovely is the month of May, Dear love, I send thee greeting!" X. Who's clattering from the tower To me a greeting queer? 'Tis, in his nest so cosy, My friend the stork I hear. He's preparing for a journey, O'er sea and land will hie; The Autumn is coming quickly, So now he says good-bye. Art right, that thou dost travel Where warmer skies do smile; From me greet fair Italia, And also Father Nile. There in the south are waiting Far better meals for thee, Than German frogs and paddocks, Poor chafers and ennui! Old fellow, God preserve thee, My blessing take along; For thou, at peaceful night-time, Hast often heard my song. And if perchance thou wert not Asleep within thy nest, Thou must have seen how often With kisses I was blest. But be not, pray, a tell-tale, Be still, old comrade mine, What business have the Moors there With lovers on the Rhine? XI.