Through the mouth I speak with many voices,

I sing with modulation, with many changes

to the headvoice, I hail loudly,

hold my song, not my voice,

an age-old nightsinger, I bring to men

bliss in the boroughs, when I bend my

voice with a cry; stilled in the villages

they sit renewed. Say what I am called,

who, like a siren of narrative jests

I loudly imitate, announce to men

my song of many greetings.