My Little Flute

My little flute from willow's twig I made,
The weeping tree in lonely graveyard swayed.
I carved it sitting on a graveyard stone,
Are you amazed, that mournful is its tone?

And there my own star set... no more its spark
Shall gleam for me and henceforth all is dark.
Is it then strange/ that sad my song's refrain?
E'en my desire to live I can't sustain.

And when, at eve, the herd strolls slowly home,
I feel impelled to yonder grave to roam...
And when the moon's pale face doth slowly rise,
My flute sends forth heartrending songs and sighs.

So long will sorrow hold me in its bane.
So long will broken-hearted I remain:
Until my soul, together with my sighs,
Into a better world, heavenward flies.

Heigh-ho! Heigh! with sorrows now away!
For I my Violet shall see to-day!
And even though I blush, I'll rest
My head upon her virgin breast.