Strona 384 z 626

'Bird,' he said, 'how beautifully you sing! Sing me that song

again.'

'Nay,' said the bird, 'I do not sing twice for nothing. Give that

gold chain, and I will sing it you again.'

'Here is the chain, take it,' said the goldsmith. 'Only sing me

that again.'

The bird flew down and took the gold chain in his right claw, and

then he alighted again in front of the goldsmith and sang:

'My mother killed her little son; My father grieved when I was

gone; My sister loved me best of all; She laid her kerchief over

me, And took my bones that they might lie Underneath the

juniper-tree Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'

Then he flew away, and settled on the roof of a shoemaker's house

and sang:

'My mother killed her little son; My father grieved when I was

gone; My sister loved me best of all; She laid her kerchief over

me, And took my bones that they might lie Underneath the

juniper-tree Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'