An old Latvian folk song, translated from memory. To be sung when gathered round a blazing hearth on a bitter winter’s night.

There is a shepherd in the hills
There is a [something] green
But black is the crow in the [something] tree
And forked lightning blasts the sky
The shepherd’s lass has golden hair
She [something something] milk
But the crow has flown away, my love
And the ducks have left the lake