“My father gave me the son of a king
To plight me heart and hand—
She sent him, my cruel step-mother,
Afar to a foreign land.
“She sent him, my cruel step-mother,
Forth under spell and ban;
She bade me love her brother foul,
Was liker a troll than a man.”
“Say now, little Elva,
What wilt thou give to me
All to the land of thy lover
If I shall carry thee?”
“I’ll give to thee the silver white,
But and the ruddy gold—
Be kind, thou wild wood-raven!
Thy spells are manifold.”
“A fairer gift than silver!
A goodlier gift than gold!
The first-born son that thou shalt bear
Him will I have and hold.”
All in the swarthy raven’s claw
Her snow-white hand she laid;
She promised him her first-born son
By the faith of a Christian maid.
He took her, little Elva,
Set her his wings between—
With mickle toil and pain he flew
Across the sea so green.
It was the wild wood-raven
Upon the tower stood still;
“Be glad now, little Elva!
Thou shalt have all thy will!”
Forth came bold Sir Nilus
With gold rings on his hand;
“Welcome now, little Elva,
All to this foreign land!
“Thanks to thee, wild wood-raven!
Fly o’er the land amain,
And when a year is past and gone
Then come thou here again.”