Lo, the Falcon,
Great-Hawk high up o'er these woods. What will he take for prey today? Could it be me?I run through the trees and twist through the briars,
Heeding not the sharpest thorn;
I fear more the rending talons,
And Hunter's shrill cry!
Falcon's shadow,
Blocking out the sun's bright light.
Flight is the only course I know now,
The Hawk's and my own.
A stream passes by; I bound o'er felled trees,
Obstacles acrqss my path.
All too soon I'm stopped at the cliff-face;
Here my plight ends!
Lo, the Falcon,
Great-Hawk high up o'er these woods.
What will he take for prey today?