THE TREACHEROUS MERMAN
“Now rede me, mother,” the merman cried,
“How Marsk Stig’s daughter may be my bride.”
She made him of water a noble steed,
Of sands a saddle, and reins of reed.
To a young knight chang’d she then her son,
And to Mary’s church at speed he’s gone.
To the church’s ring his steed he bound,
And three times backward the church pac’d round.
When in he strode so proud and tall
Away the images turned them all.
The priest was standing with open book:
“O who is yon knight of stately look?”
Then laughed the maiden within her sleeve:
“If he were my husband I should not grieve.”
He step’d over benches one and two:
“O Marsk Stig’s daughter I doat on you.”
He stepped over benches three and four:
“Give me thy troth I thee implore.”