The eyes 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.”
He placed the eyes where they should be;
Life came back, and the girl could see,
And the maiden rose, and looked around—
She was alone—not even a sound
Disturbed the forest’s silence.
PART FIFTH.
Three weeks had passed, the king rode home,
Merrily back upon his roan.
“How are you, beloved wife,” he said,
“And have you been spinning linen thread,
And thinking of me, my love?”
“Your parting words I kept with care
Look at this golden spin-wheel fair,
The only spin-wheel of gold, I trow,
With distaff and whirl I bought it now,
For love of you I bought it.”
“I pray thee sit and spin, my dove,
A golden thread spin me, my love.”
With joy she sat herself down to spin,
Turned the wheel—then blanched, her face grew thin,
As she heard that awful song.
“Vrrr—you have spun an awful thread—
Yes, blood is on your hands and head—
You killed your sister, and took her place.
You tore her limbs and eyes from their place.
Vrrr—you have spun an awful thread.”
“What spinning wheel is this, I pray?
Strange is the song it sings, I say?
But spin on, my wife, I fain would hear
Some more of this song, so strange and drear,
Spin—my wile, spin on, I pray,”
