The Maid as a Hind and a Hawk

As I was a little and tender child.
My own dear mother died;
And up the country my father rode.
And married another bride.

The night she came to her bridal bed,
A mother she seem'd so good;
The day that followed, the same next day,
A stepmother harsh and rude.

I sat me down at my father's board
With hounds and puppies to play;
In came my stepmother, stalking in.
To take my comfort away.

With roses and lilies I made a wreathe,
And sat at the board so still;
My stepmother grudged my guiltless joy.
For that was against her will.

She shaped myself to a little white hind,
And bade me to greenwood wend;
My seven little maids she turned to wolves.
And bade them my flesh to rend.

My seven little maids they loved me well.
My body they would not tear,
And much it my spiteful stepmother vex'd,
That harder I should not fare.

My trulove. Sir Orm, he served the king,
And handsome was he and bold;
He sorrowed for me both day and night.
But never his grief had told.

Sir Orm rode out from the royal court,
His gloom, if he could, to cheer,
And came to the wood with hounds and bow.
And purposed to chase the deer.

Sir Orm to the chase hallooed the hounds,
And near to the hind he rode,
But she for the yelp of the dogs fled not.
Such love for the knight she show'd.

The hounds they press'd the hind so sore,
For covert she fain must fly;
She shaped herself to a little wild hawk,
And flew to the clouds so high.

He fain would catch her, the good Sir Orm,
And laid in her path a snare.
But never could seize her, so quick was she,
So well of his wiles aware.

But down that little wild falcon flew,
And sat on a linden tree;
Beneath it Sir Orm, her trulove, stood,'
And bitterly wail did he.

Sir Orm on his shoulder brought an axe.
To fell the linden low;
There came the peasant, that own'd the wood
And parried the falling blow.

"If thou dost chop my ancestor's wood,
"And waste it in my despite,
"I'll write me a rune, shall work thy death,
"And make thee my loss requite.

"O let me but fell this single tree,
"Nor grudge me the boon I crave,
"For if that falcon I cannot catch,
"With grief I sink to the grave."

"Now listen, thou handsome active youth,
"A better device I weet;
"A falcon so wild thou wilt not catch,
"Except with a bait of meat."

A slice from his breast Sir Orm cut off,
And hung on a linden bough;
The breast it bled, and the steak it crack'd,
'Twere hard if they miss'd her now.

And down from her branch the falcon flew
And clapp'd with her wings so quick;
And slily she laugh'd to herself with joy,
She well understood the trick.

She hack'd and peck'd at the meat so fast,
She seemed to relish the treat;
For still the longer she ate thereof,
The more she wanted to eat.

Then flitted that falcon so wild away,
And sat on the glittering sand;
And there she changed to a maid, as fair
As any in all the land.

And now she stood at her trulove's side,
From trouble and sorrow free,
And much they told of their mutual grief
Beneath the linden tree.

He took her so gently within his arm,
And then her lips he kiss'd;
"Thank God! I find thee so sound and fresh,
"So long as I thee have miss'd."

And while she was standing beneath the tree,
And combing her flaxen hair,
Her seven little maids, that wolves had been.
Came running her joy to share.

"Now plight me thy troth, fair gentle maid,
"And give me in pledge thy hand;
"And say, if ready to go with me
"Afar to my native land/'

"O thanks for thy goodness, thou brave Sir Orm,
"And thanks for the dainty steak;
"Henceforth, so long as I live and breathe,
"I never will thee forsake.

"My gratefullest thanks, thou brave Sir Orm,
"Who saved me from all my pain;
"Henceforth thou never, but at my side,
"Shalt slumber or sleep again."

The gallant Sir Orm redeem'd his word.
Like a true and loyal knight.
And held in a month his wedding feast
To drink the nuptial rite.

And so has the fair and gentle maid
Overcome her trouble and pain;
Has found her trulove, the brave Sir Orm,
And is in his arms again.