Close to the dry stars, where the daredevils seek for their Mecca,
 

 
 for their

And where icy winds blow and jagged peaks puncture the sky,
 

 
 puncture

There once lived a jubilant-spirited mountain echo,
 

 
 mountain echo,

When solitude swells in your throat and cuts off the air,
 

 
 cuts off the air,

And your lips let out a moan that no one can hear,
 

 
 no one can hear,

This shout for help the kind echo will pick up with care,
 

 
 pick up with care,

Were they beasts or men, who that evening cropped out around,
 

 
 cropped

And strove to damp down their footfall and odious snort,
 

 
 and odious snort?

Intending to silence for good the live canyons, they bound,
 

 
 they bound

All night long, went on their festivity, brutal and violent,
 

 
 and violent,

They trampled on the echo till saw it was fatally broken,
 

 
 fatally broken.

When rose the sun, they shot down it, exhausted and silent,
 

 
 and silent,