- I was riding one day, 'twas a bright sunny day,
- not a cloud to be seen in the sky,
- When a small yellow bird, a-singing its song,
- came flying to perch on my head.
- With a too-ra-li-lay, falarali-ri-lay,
- it came flying to perch on my head.
- There on my head, the bird ceased in its song,
- and addressed me with thundering voice:
- Where do you ride, where are you bound,
- where are you guiding your steps?
- With a too-ra-li-lay, falarali-ri-lay,
- tell me where you are guiding your steps?
- Ahead of me lay boundless miles of the road,
- and I knew not whither they lead.
- I said, the Norns they have cut, and measured my thread,
- how should I know where I'm bound?
- With a too-ra-li-lay, falarali-ri-lay,
- tell me how I should know where I'm bound.
- The bird flashed its bright eyes, and its wings beat the wind,
- as it cried out the answer I knew,
- It cried, the Norns may have cut and measured your thread,
- but you hold the reigns to your horse.
- With a too-ra-li-lay, falarali-ri-lay,
- only you hold the reigns to your horse!
- As the bird took to wing, singing brightly again,
- I arrested the stride of my horse.
- I considered the road, and whither it lead,
- and turned my way back whence I came.
- With a too-ra-li-lay, falarali-ri-lay,
- my horse went back the way that I came.