"Do thou, dear Mother, contrive amain How Marsk Stig's daughter I may gain."
She made him, of water, a noble steed, Whose trappings were form'd from rush and reed.
To a young knight chang'd she then her son;
To Mary's church at full speed he's gone.
His foaming horse to the gate he bound, And pac'd the church full three times round:
When in he walk'd with his plume on high, The dead men gave from their tombs a sigh:
The priest heard that, and he clos'd his book;
"Methinks yon knight has a strange wild look."
Then laugh'd the maiden beneath her sleeve;
"If he were my husband I should not grieve."
He stepp'd over benches one and two:
"O, Marsk Stig's daughter, I doat on you."
He stepp'd over benches two and three:
"O, Marsk Stig's daughter, come home with me."
Then said the maid, without more ado, "Here take my troth, I will go with you."
They went from the church a bridal train, And danc'd so gaily across the plain;
They danc'd till they came to the strand, and then They were forsaken by maids and men.
"Now, Marsk Stig's daughter, sit down and rest;
To build a boat I will do my best."
He built a boat of the whitest sand, And away they went from the smiling land;
But when they had cross'd the ninth green wave, Down sunk the boat to the ocean cave!
I caution ye, maids, as well as I can, Ne'er give your troth to an unknown man.
