He went, the wild wood-raven,
Flew o’er the land amain,
And when a year was past and gone
He came to them again.
It was the wild wood-raven,
Upon the tower perched he—
“Hast thou forgotten, Elva,
The gift thou shalt give to me?”
“Now wrap him in the linen white,
The little babe I bore!
Take him, thou wild wood-raven—
His mother he’ll see no more.”
He’s pierced him in the lily breast,
And drunk the hot heart’s blood—
Then rose the raven as fair a knight
As e’er in the country stood.
AN OWER-TRUE TALE
So merry the knights were sitting
Around the queen’s own board—
Many a laugh was among them,
And many a waggish word.
(Under the lindens, there will I bide.)
No word of the kirk was spoken,
And never a word of the cloister,
But many a word of the ladies
Who had fair maids to foster.
“I will have a maiden
Who can both broider and sew;
I will not have a maiden
Goes gadding to and fro.
“I will have a maiden
Who well can spread the board;
I will not have a maiden
Too ready with her word.”