I.
Merry chimer, merry chimer,
Oh, sing once more,
Again outpour,
Like some long-applauded mimer,
All thy vocal store.
II.
Thy short but oft-repeated song,
At early dawn,
Awakes the morn,
Telling that joys to thee belong,
Greeting day new-born.
III.
Alas! we now but seldom hear
Thy rich, full note
Around us float,
For thou seem'st doomed to disappear,
E'en from woods remote.
IV.
Some say the stranger honey-bee,
By white men brought,
This ill hath wrought;
It steals the honey from the tree
And it leaves thee naught.
V.
The songsters of our Fatherland
We hither bring.
And here they sing,
Reminding of that distant strand
Whence old mem'ries spring.
VI.
But as the old, we love the new;
Fain we'd retain
Thy chiming strain,
Thy purple throat and olive hue
Yet we wish in vain.
VII.
Thy doom is fixed by nature's law
Why? none can tell.
Therefore, farewell,
We'll miss thy voice from leafy shaw
Living silver bell.
VIII.
Why should we ever know new joys,
If thus they pass?
Leaving, alas!
Wistful regret, which much alloys
All that man now has.
