Child Count by love
a child and went to sea;
going to water his horse
the morning of St. John.

As the horse drink,
he sings sweet song;
every bird in the sky
stopped to listen.

Hiker walking
her forget walking
navigator to navigate,
the ship back toward it.

The queen was tilling,
sleeping daughter is:
“Rise, Albaniña,
of your sweet Folgar

sing will feel beautiful
the mermaid of the sea.
“It’s the little mermaid, mother,
of such a beautiful song,

but as Count Child
I want to refine that.
Who could assert
its so sad is punishing!

“If grief for thy love,
OH, Cursed your singing!,
and because they never enjoy,
I’ll send him to kill.

- If ordered to kill mother
together we must bury! —
He died at midnight,
the roosters sing it;

her as the daughter of kings,
is buried at the altar;
to him as son of counts,
few steps behind.

From it came a white rose,
hawthorn was born of him;
increased by one grows the other,
the two go together;

twigs are reached,
hugs are given,
and those that were not achieved,
no longer sigh.

The queen full of envy,
both had them cut;
the trouser cut that
not stop mourn.

She was born of a heron
of him a strong hawk;
together they fly through the sky.
peer to peer fly together.