Why o'er the dark'ning hill-slopes
Do dusky shadows creep?
Because the wind blows keenly there
Or rainstorms lash and leap?

No wind blows chill upon them
Nor are they lash'd by rain:
'Tis Death who rides across the hills
With all his shadowy train

The old bring up the cortege
In front the young folk ride
And on Death's saddle in a row
The babes sit side by side

The young folk lift their voices
The old folk plead with Death:
"O let us take the village-road
Or by the brook draw breath

There let the old drink water
There let the young folk play
And let the little children
Run and pluck the blossoms gay."