Round him the birds troop,
Singing and hailing;
Wings of all glories
Engarland the king.

Hymning and hailing,
Through forest and sun-air,
Hymning and hailing,
And speaking him 'King.'

High flies the phoenix,
Escaped from the worm-web
He soars in the sunlight,
He bathes in the dew.

He visits his old haunts,
The holt and the sun-hill;
The founts of his youth, and
The fields of his love.

The stars in the welkin,
The blooms on the earth,
Are glad in his gladness,
Are young in his youth.

While round him the birds troop,
the Hosts of the Himmel, [208]
Blisses of music, and
Glories of wings;