"There flew a bird out o'er the house,
50 Wi' a man's bane in his mouth;
He coost it in, and I cast it out,
As fast as e'er I couth."
But wilyly she can Rosmer win;
And clapping him tenderly,
55 "It's here is come my sister-son;—
Gin I lose him, I'll die.
"It's here is come, my sister-son,
Frae baith our fathers' land;
And I ha'e pledged him faith and troth,
60 That ye will not him bann."
"And is he come, thy sister-son,
Frae thy father's land to thee?
Then I will swear my highest aith,
He's dree nae skaith frae me."
65 "'Twas then the high king Rosmer,
He ca'd on younkers twae:
"Ye bid proud Svanè lyle's sister-son
To the chalmer afore me gae."
It was Svanè lyle's sister-son,
70 Whan afore Rosmer he wan,
His heart it quook, and his body shook,
Sae fley'd, he scarce dow stand.
Sae Rosmer took her sister-son,
Set him upon his knee;
75 He clappit him sae luifsomely,
He turned baith blue and blae.
And up and spak she, Svanè lyle;
"Sir Rosmer, ye're nae to learn
That your ten fingers arena sma,
80 To clap sae little a bairn."
There was he till, the fifthen year,
He green'd for hame and land:
"Help me now, sister Svanè lyle,
To be set on the white sand."