The Nightingale and the Crow

	Woe is me, because of love for a worthy maiden,

	that I am not in Eutun Woods

	(boon to a throng) near a heavenly court

4	where the hosts of praise reside.

	A rising stone tower beneath a layer of lime,

	ascending place of a fair, proud nightingale,

	she is familiar (our oppression is great)

8	with a swift journey beneath a mantle of leaves.

	Shrilly she sings (main organ full of wisdom)

	both tenor and treble, with pleasant commotion.

	So pure by day and night

12	is her good, strong, clear voice, so bright and beautiful,

	the blissful song of a refined, joyous girl,

	it is a branch–climbing melody, the tune of love's psaltery.

	Her memory is dear to Ovid,

16	poetess, weaver of songs.

	She is a fair, lively, shining example

	for love from the leaves' chancel.

	As I, free from oppression,

20	in a fine chamber within the leaves' chapel,

	was listening sincerely

	to a mass beneath a fair leaf

	sung by love's psalmist,

24	the qualities of splendid, goodly voices,

	suddenly the wretched crow, perched on a twig,

	noisy, ravenous, with meaty breast,

	made an assault, spreading her tail,

28	on the place where the dear, beautiful grey bird was.

	Three harsh notes, no bright commotion,

	'Glaw! Glaw!' ['Rain! Rain!'] said the vile wretch from the thicket.

	Whereupon the fair nightingale (leaves' courtliness),

32	up there upon the twigs,

	became silent and sad

	under the oppression of the black Jewess.

	She thwarted my pleasure

36	(she of the trailing feathers) with her many voices.

	It's no wonder there came to me —

	God knows I'll never forget it —

	an idea (noble mind)

40	to save me from terror, it was an excellent ruse:

	'You bustling heap of entrails with no sweet tune,

	you mean, scabby–necked, harsh–voiced waddler,

	the Jealous Husband's bird (you're hideous),

44	from the grove, you evil–voiced bird,

	go home to your kinsman, the Jealous One,

	you of the colour of mussels, pile of guts.

	He's been on his death–bed! When you hear the rust–brown ox

48	bellowing, don't hold back,

	don't delay, bird with the hooked beak,

	don't be angry, make a wound in his belly.'

	She believed that I was right,

52	a curse upon her, that long–necked carrion–eater.

	I got from the bright–winged one

	(a brilliant, worthy task) far better voices.