"What cheer shall I get for thee,
Who givest a son to me?
Say, sweet, what shall it be?
"From the forest green a roe,
Or a woodcock from where, I trow,
The pond in the vale lies low?"
"For venison am I fain,
But would not give thee pain
For me the wood to gain."
But while the lady spoke,
Lord Nann took his lance of oak,
And mounting his jet-black steed,
Rode forth to the wood with speed.
When he gained the greenwood shade,
A white hind from the glade
Fled, of his lance afraid.
Swift after the hind he flew;
The ground shook 'neath the two,
So swiftly on they flew,
And late the evening grew.
The heat streamed from his face,
From the horse's flanks apace,
Till twilight closed the race.
A little stream was welling,
'Mid softest moss up-swelling,
Hard by a haunted dwelling,
The grot of a Korrigan.
By the streamlet's brink
He stooped to drink,
For sore athirst was Nann.
The Korrigan sat there,
By the edge of her fountain fair,
Combing her golden hair.
Combing her hair with a golden comb,
For all is of price in the Korrigan's home.
"And who, so rash, art thou,
Troubling my water's flow?
Thou shalt marry me now," the Korrigan said,
"Or for seven long years shalt wither and fade,
Or in three days hence in the grave be laid!"