There is a fourteenth-century song, probably from the Lower Rhine,[7] which suggests the poems of the eighth and ninth centuries, about a great quarrel between Spring, crowned with flowers, and hoary-headed Winter, in which one praises and the other blames the cuckoo for announcing Spring.

In this song, Summer complains to mankind and other friends that a mighty master is going to drive him away; this mighty master, Winter, then takes up the word, and menaces Spring with the approach of frost, who will slight and imprison him, and then kill him; ice and hail agree with Winter, and storm, rain, snow, and bitter winds are called his vassals, etc.

There are naive verses in praise of Spring and Summer: 

  When that the breezes blow in May,
  And snow melts from the wood away,
  Blue violets lift their heads on high,
  And when the little wood-birds sing,
  And flow’rets from the ground up-spring,
  Then everybody’s glad.

Others complaining of Winter, who must have leave of absence, and the wrongs it has wrought are poured out to Summer.  The little birds are very human; the owlet complains: 

        Poor little owlet me! 
  I have to fly all alone through the wood to-night;
  The branch I want to perch on is broken,
  The leaves are all faded,
  My heart is full of grief.

The cuckoo is either praised for bringing good news, or made fun of as the ‘Gutzgauch.’

  A cuckoo will fly to his heart’s treasure, etc.

The fable songs[8] of animal weddings are full of humour.  The fox makes arrangements for his wedding:  ’Up with you now, little birds!  I am going to take a bride.  The starling shall saddle the horses, for he has a grey mantle; the beaver with the cap of marten fur must be driver, the hare with his light foot shall be outrider; the nightingale with his clear voice shall sing the songs, the magpie with his steady hop must lead the dances,’ etc.

The nightingale, with her rich tones, is beloved and honoured before all the winged things; she is called ‘the very dear nightingale,’ and addressed as a lady.

’Thou art a little woodbird, and flyest in and out the green wood; fair Nightingale, thou little woodbird, thou shalt be my messenger.’

It is she who warns the girl against false love, or is the silent witness of caresses.

There were a great many wishing songs:  ’Were I a little bird and had two wings, I would fly to thee,’ or ’Were I a wild falcon, I would take flight and fly down before a rich citizen’s house—­a little maid is there,’ etc.  ’And were my love a brooklet cold, and sprang out of a stone, little should I grieve if I were but a green wood; green is the wood, the brooklet is cold, my love is shapely.’  The betrayed maiden cries:  ’Would God I were a white swan!  I would fly away over mountain and deep valley o’er the wide sea, so that my father and mother should not know where I was.’