He looked to the right, he looked to the left,
At the rug where the dog lay on;
But the reindeer skin was burnt in two,
And the little black hound was gone.
And, traced in the ashes, these words he read:
“For the soul of your firstborn son,
I will make you rich as you once were rich
Ere the glass of your luck was run.”
The Geraldine went to the west window,
And then he went to the east,
And saw his desolate pasture fields,
And the stables without a beast.
“So be it, as I love no woman,
No son shall ever be mine;
I would that my stables were full of steeds,
And my cellars were full of wine.”
“I swear it, as I love no woman,
And never a son have I,
I would that my sheep and their little lambs
Should flourish and multiply.
“So yours be the soul of my firstborn son.”
Here the Geraldine slyly smiled,
But from the dark of the lonely room
Came the cry of a little child.
The Geraldine went to the west window,
He opened, and out did lean,
And lo! the pastures were full of kine,
All chewing the grass so green.
And quickly he went to the east window,
And his face was pale to see,
For lo! he saw to the empty stalls
Brave steeds go three by three.
The Geraldine went to the great hall door,
In wonder at what had been,
And there he saw the prettiest maid
That ever his eyes had seen.
And long he looked at the pretty young maid,
And swore there was none so fair;
And his heart went out of him like a hound,
And hers like a timid hare.