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the birds; they go away, They leave the countries of the North For foreign regions green and gay. Hark! On the air their songs break forth! Where dost Thou send us, God, they cry, Oh whither wouldst thou have us fly?

We leave the Scandinavian soil, Our birth-place dear, with bitter grief! We were so happy here; with toil Upon the limes in flower and leaf We had our nests built; and the wind The perfumed boughs swung to and fro; And now we must leave all behind; And speed,—ah, where? we little know.

Night in the forests was so fair, With her rose—crown and locks of gold! We closed our eyes, but sleep was rare, Night's beauty was so manifold! And then with songs we hailed afar The Morning's prancing steeds and car.