This hive is larger, the next smaller.

This nest lies on the sand, and another under the stones.

This was built but yesterday, while that was fashioned ages ago, some say even before the swallows came; who knows?
Nor will there be found herein folk-lore or story.
Every valley where lie homesteads has its song.

I will tell you the plot; you can turn it into verse and set it to music of your own.
There lived a lass, and there came a lad, who loved and rode away.
It is a monotonous song, written in many languages; for the young man seems to have been a mighty traveller.

Here in sentimental Germany they remember him well.