The partridge was sitting (Double)
And weeping on a stone, O birds!
She lamented with the little birds,
O birds, o fowls of the air!
I ascended high mountains (Double),
I gazed on verdant meadows,
O birds, o fowls of the air!
I descended and fell into the snare,
Into a net spread on the lake,
O birds, o fowls of the air!
They came and took me out,
And showed me the terrible sword
My tuneful throat
They cut from ear to ear
My purple blood
They shed upon the ground
My rosy beak
They exposed on the sparkling flame
My little-stepping feet
They cut off at the knees.
My many coloured feathers
They dispersed some to the hill some to the valley,
That which fell on the hill;
That the breeze carried away,
That which fell in the valley,
That the torrent rose and carried away
And like Saint Gregory
They let me down into the deep well.
They came and drew me up,
They sat round a table;
And like saint James the Intercised
They cut me in little pieces;
They made the pancake for my shroud
And buried me with red wine.
I cried out the lamentation of Jeremiah,
And that of the first father and mother.