“Collect thou thy gold in the coffer with speed,
And I’ll to the stable and saddle my steed.”
He flung round the maiden his mantle so wide,
And he lifted her up on his courser of pride.
They came to the wood of the briar and rose,
There Sidselil craved for a while to repose.
“Now art thou fatigued by thy journey, sweet love,
Or say, does the saddle too close for thee prove?”
“I am not o’ercome by the journey, sweet love,
But the saddle too close for my burden doth prove.”
He spread on the cold earth his mantle so wide:
“Here rest thee a space and I’ll watch by thy side.”
“O Jesus, that one of my maidens were near,
The pains of a mother are on me I fear.”
“Thy maidens are now at a distance from thee,
And thou hast no one to assist thee but me.”
“’Twere better to perish again and again,
Than thou should’st stand by me and gaze on my pain.”
“Then take off thy kerchief and cover my head,
And perhaps I may stand in the wise woman’s stead.”