Bird-cherries blossom by the river,
And the youngest sister
Is gathering the flowers.
As she reaches for the flowers,
Her wreath of acorns falls in the river.
As she reaches for the wreath,
She falls in the river herself.

The river did not keep her,
It threw her in the sea.
The sea did not keep her,
It threw her on a hill.
There grew up a large linden tree
With nine branches.

There came a brother
To make a zither out of linden branches.
Playing the zither, the brother says:
Linden zither sounds so beautiful.
Weeping mother says:
It is not the linden zither,
It is the sister's soul
That came across the waters.