Oh, why art thou sad, my mother?
  All nature is smiling now.
In this village there's not another
  As solemn and glum as thou!
It is idle attempt to smother
  Sad thoughts that wring thy brow!
How can I console my mother?
  Oh answer me quickly - how?

How can she console her mother?
  Oh answer her quickly - how?

My daughter, be blithe and merry
  Nor think of your sad mamma;
My grief I will strive to bury
  And join in the gay ha! ha!
My sorrows are selfish very
  And clash with the loud huzzah!
They sadden the hey down derry
  And temper the tra! la! la!

Her grief it is certain very
  Does temper the tra! la! la!