When of the crescent moon aware
Hung silver in the sky,
“See, Saint Nothburga’s sickle there!”
The Tyrol children cry.

It is a quaint and pretty tale
Six hundred summers old,
When in the green Tyrolean vale,
The peasant folk is told.

The town of Eben nestled here
Is little known to fame,
Save as the legends make it dear,
In Saint Nothburga’s name.