The Maiden Transformed to a Wer-wolf

My mother she bare me at eventide,
Ere crow of the cock herself had died.

Eight years my father would take no wife,
Lest cruel stepmother should plague my life.

But when those first eight years were fled,
Once more did he sorely long to wed.

He traversed the country far and wide,
And brought to his home a smiling bride.

He brought to his home the smiling dame,
But stepmother harsh she soon became.

As home they were driving her up the street,
I went to the gate the bride to meet.

I gently tapp'd on her robe so fine,
"O welcome home, dear mother mine!"

She spurn'd me back with a scornful heel,
"'Tis thou that shalt first my temper feel."

She changed my form to a scissars small"
And bade that I should not grow at all.

To maids and to matrons I was dear,
Their cloth with me they loved to shear.

But even the greater grew her hate,
The more that she saw my happy fate

She then to a sword-blade shaped my form,
And bade me to toil in battle's storm.

A sword-blade I was so keen and bright,
And dear to squire and to gallant knight.

Well pleased with me all, and proud they were
My blade in a gilded sheath to bear.

But still the greater grew her hate.
The more that she saw my happy fate.

As wer-wolf then by her cruel spell
She drove me to roam the wood and dell.

Eight years no other home I knew,
And many a gallant man I slew;

She bound me my form to take no more,
Till I should drink of my brother's gore.

And that she hoped that I ne'er should get,
For brother had I not one as yet.

Eight years I had passed in pain and care,
And still no child my stepdame bare;

But when the ninth was nearly spent,
She then with a little infant went.

One festival day, a holy tide,
To church she had ventured forth to ride.

But hidden behind a rock I lay,
Just where the dame must take her way.

I seiz'd the wretch's purple gown.
And out of her saddle dragg'd her down;

I hit the flesh from her left-hand side,
With claws I rent the opening wide.

I took the baby so small and good.
And hare him off to the murky wood.

I hit the hoy in his little toe,
And made a tiny streamlet flow;

But scarcely had drunk of brother's blood.
Before on my feet a maid I stood.

The boy myself to the font I bare.
And gave him then to a nurse's care;

And now in a cloister I go to live.
And all my days to Our Lady give.