She'll hang thee up; yes, she will hang thee with scorn,
And burn me to ashes, at breaking of morn."
"Ha! laugh at her threat'nings, so empty and wild;
She neither shall hang me, nor burn thee, my child:
Collect what is precious, in jewels and garb,
And I'll to the stable and saddle my barb."
He gave her the cloak, that he us'd at his need,
And he lifted her up, on the broad-bosom'd steed.
The forest is gain'd, and the city is past,
When her eyes to the heaven she wistfully cast.
"What ails thee, dear maid? we had better now stay,
For thou art fatigu'd by the length of the way."
"I am not fatigu'd by the length of the way;
But my seat is uneasy, in truth, I must say."
He spread, on the cold earth, his mantle so wide;
"Now rest thee, my love, and I'll watch by thy side."
"O Jesus, that one of my maidens were near!
The pains of a mother are on me, I fear."
"Thy maidens are now at a distance from thee,
And thou art alone in the forest with me."
"'Twere better to perish, again and again,
Than thou should'st stand by me, and gaze on my pain."
"Then take off thy kerchief, and cover my head,
And perhaps I may stand in the wise-woman's stead."
"O Christ, that I had but a draught of the wave!
To quench my death-thirst, and my temples to lave."
Sir Middel was to her so tender and true,
And he fetch'd her the drink in her gold-spangled shoe.
The fountain was distant, and when he drew near,
Two nightingales sat there and sang in his ear: