They had often heard their parents and grandparents relate how once, in the greyest times, a maiden had been carried off by the Ritter of the Lauenburg, and in the hour of her greatest danger had been rescued from his power by transformation into a flower, which bloomed every year a single day, and the maiden came and wandered a single night through the ruins.
"Might this be the flower?" they asked.
At last one of the boys began climbing up the tower walls to pluck it, when he heard a soft voice murmur so clearly that all heard it, "Do not pluck me."
The boy started back in affright; but, vexed at his fear, feeling sure a flower could not speak, he began again to mount the tower; but the same voice came from the flower, "Do not pluck me," and the children cried, "Give it up and come down!"
This excited him still more, and stretching out his hand to pick the flower, a hideous serpent raised its head hissing from under the leaves, when the boy fell back in deadly terror among thorns and fallen stones; and was carried home with broken limbs.
Again, on a St. John's Day, the children of Steckelnberg played among the ruins of the Lauenburg, when they saw again the wonderful flower, and heard the same soft voice, "Do not pluck me." In affright they fled down the mountain.
But a quiet little girl had remained behind, for it seemed to her the flower did not say, "Do not pluck me," but, "Pluck me." Hence she stood thoughtfully gazing in the flower's clear eye, when again she heard in soft tones, "Pluck me! pluck me!"
The maiden came nearer, the flower's glance grew more loving, but under her leaves she saw the serpent-head, which rose hissing and coiling.
Then she drew back her hand, and dared not touch the flower, and as she fled she heard still the voice, "Only pluck me!"
The next day she went back, determined to obey the voice, and pick the flower, but it and the serpent had vanished.