She rested ’neath the linden’s shade,
The gold harp in her hand was seen:
“O yonder I spy Sir Thunye ride,
I’ll bring him to my feet, I ween.
“Now sit ye down, my maids so small,
And sit you down my little foot boy;
For I the Runic note will play,
Till field and meadow bloom with joy.”
Then struck she amain the Runic stroke,
The harp began so sweet to ring,
The wild bird on the twig that sat
Forgot its merry song to sing.
The wild bird on the bough that sat
Forgot its merry song to sing;
The wild hart running in the shaw
Forgot forthwith to leap and spring.
Then bloomed the mead, the bough burst forth,
As wildly rang that Runic strain;
Sir Thunye fiercely spurred his steed,
But, ah! to ’scape he strove in vain.
It was the knight Sir Thunye then
From his good courser bounded he;
He went up to the Dwarf’s daughter,
And took his seat beside her knee.
“Hail to thee, Daughter of the Dwarf!
Do thou become my wedded wife,
And I’ll respect and honor thee,
All, all the days I gain in life.
“Here sitt’st thou, Daughter of the Dwarf,
A rose amongst the lilies all;
No man can see thee in this world
But thee his own he fain would call.”
“Now list to me, Sir Thunye the knight,
Give up, I beg, this amorous play;
I have already a bridegroom bold,
The King whom all the dwarfs obey.
“My father sits within the hill,
He marshals there his elfin power;
Next Monday morn my bridegroom bold
Shall bear me to his elfin bower.