The wise thrush, the wise thrush, she choseth well her tree,
Made her nest in the laurel's leafy shade.
But the foolish young girl, all laughing in her glee,
She built on a reed that all winds swayed,
She built on a reed that swung and swayed.
The wise thrush, the wise thrush, she crouchèd on her nest,
When the hawk in the clouds hunted nigh,
But the foolish young maid did sing in soft request
He pass not unpraised her nestlings by,
Her gentle hopes and pretty dreaming by.
The wise thrush, the wise thrush, she lingered and she spied
A safe flight her fledgelings to gain,
But the foolish young girl, all careless in her pride,
Found her pretty ones were scattered and were slain,
In her ravished heart her pretty ones were slain.
The wise thrush, the wise thrush, she drowsèd at her ease
While her nestlings did pipe on the tree.
But the foolish young maid could not her grief appease,
For her dying hopes were pitiful to see,
Oh, pitiful her perished dreams to see.