The tall trees are full of sad wind;
The sea water rises in billows.
Without a keen sword in hand,
What's the use of plentiful ties of friendship?
Don't you see the oriole in the hedge?
Seeing a hawk, he tumbles into the net.
The fowler is glad to get the oriole.
A young man is sad to see the bird caught;
He grasps his sword and cuts the net away.
The oriole gets free, he flies and flies;
He flies and flies, upward, touching the blue sky
And down again, to thank the young man.