The hair on her head is like yellow spun gold,
To her beauty the heart of the prince was not cold.
But at length up and down in the palace she strayed,
Her colour and hair began swiftly to fade.
What eye has seen ever so wondrous a case?
The boy his own spurs to his heel cannot brace.
The horse-boy is brought to so wondrous a plight,
To draw his own weapon he has not the might.
The son of the King to five damsels now sends,
And Ingeborg fair to their care he commends.
Proud Ingeborg took they and wrapped in their weed,
And to the stone chamber with her they proceed.
Upon the blue cushions they Ingeborg laid,
Where light of two beautiful sons she is made.
Then in came the prince, smiled the babies to view:
“’Tis not every horse-boy can bear such a two.”
He patted her soft on her cheek sleek and fair:
“Forget my heart’s dearest all sorrow and care.”
He placed the gold crown on her temples I ween:
“With me shalt thou live as my wife and my Queen.”