A thrush flew up the tree.
Song
1. A thrush has climbed up the tree, ; The poor thing is sad, her mate has left her. ; My baby has left me too, ; Yet I do not cry like the thrush. ; ; 2. Don't climb up the tree, ; Rather climb up to my baby's window. ; Sing my sad song, ; My lover is taking me to the soldier's for a year and a half. ; ; 3. But I would like to be a morning star, ; To shine on my baby's window sill! ; I would shine on her, at dawn, ; I would ask her for a last kiss.