Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/84

The hands were given to the lad,
He rode back to the forest sad.
“Hand me, my boy, the living water,
I soon will heal this ill-starred daughter,
Without a scar, I’ll heal her.”

Wound upon wound he gently pressed;
It grew together like the rest,
And the dead hands warmed with living heat,
And grew to the body as was meet,
But no scar was to be seen.

“Up, my lad, and be on the way,
I have a whirl to sell this day;
In the king’s palace they will buy it;
But listen: Only for eyes I sell it,
No other pay will answer.”

The lad jumped on his fiery steed,
The precious whirl he held with heed.
The queen looked out of the window high,
“If I had that whirl—and she did sigh,
“To match my golden distaff.

“Get up, my mother, from your seat,
And ask the price of that whirl so neat!”
“For eyes, my lady! The whirl to-day,
’Tis my father’s will, I must obey,
For two eyes you can have it.”

“For two eyes! Are you crazy, lad?
Who is your father, speak out, lad?”
Who is my father, you need not know,
Those who seek him, find him not I know,
But he'll come to you I ween.”

“Mother, mother, what shall I say?
I must have that whirl come what may!”
“So bring our Dorothy’s eyes, I pray;
I must have that whirl this very day,
Give him our Dorothy’s eyes.”