The Power of the Harp

Sir Peter took from home his bride.
But while she rode, she deeply sighed.
Say, why my love these tones of grief?

"Does you your horse or saddle fret?
"Or marrying me do you regret?"

"Me does not horse nor saddle fret,
"Nor marrying you do I regret."

"Or that because my wealth is small,
"You may not me your equal call?"

"I sigh not that with wealth so small
"I cannot you my equal call."

"For father lost grieve you so sore?
"Or that you're now a maid no more?"

"For father grieve I not so sore,
"Nor that I am now a maid no more.

"I grieve and sigh, because I know,
"What death I am doomed to undergo.

"It is the long frail bridge I fear,
"Where lost were both my sisters dear;

"The roaring stream, the treacherous bank,
"Where my poor sisters slipp'd and sank."

"Sigh then no more, my dearest bride,
"My twelve brave swains shall with you ride.

"With you shall ride my faithful swains,
"And I myself will hold your reins."

But when they came to Rosenshaw,
A golden-antler'd stag they saw.

They mark'd him all, and off they hied,
And all forgot the gentle bride.

With gold her horse's feet were shod.
On fifteen nails of gold he trod;

But on the bridge his foot he lost,
And her in the roaring torrent toss'd.

Sir Peter came and turn'd him round,
But no where could the bride be found.

His swains Sir Peter call'd, and told,
"Haste! fetch me, swains, my harp of gold."

So sweet Sir Peter's music rang,
The birds aloft in answer sang.

And up the Merman heav'd his head,
And in his hand the maiden led.

"Dear knight Sir Peter, cease your spell,
"And take the bride you love so well,"

"'Tis good thou dost my bride restore;
"But render up two sisters more."

Sir Peter touch'd the string again.
The birds flew down to hear his strain.

The Merman rose and came to land,
And held a maid in either hand.

"O cease. Sir Peter, cease thy strain,
"For I no sisters more retain."

And now the bride no longer weeps,
But nightly with Sir Peter sleeps.