The yellow bittern that never broke out In a drinking bout might as well have drunk His bones are thrown on a naked stone Where he lived alone like a hermit monk Oh yellow bittern, I pity your lot Though they say that a sot like myself is cursed I was sober a while, but I’ll drink and be wise For fear I should die in the end of thirst
It’s not for the common birds that I’d mourn The blackbird, the corncrake or the crane But for the bittern that’s shy and apart And drinks in the marsh from the lone bog drain Oh if I had known you were near your death While my breath held out I’d have run to you ‘Til a splash from the Lake of the Son of the Bird Your soul would have stirred and waked anew
My darling told me to drink no more Or my life would be o’er in a little short while But I told her ’tis drink gives me health and strength And will lengthen my road by many a mile You see how the bird of the long smooth neck Could get his death from the thirst at last Come, son of my soul, and drink your cup For you’ll get no sup when your life is past