It was her mother, the Dwarf’s Lady, She peeped from out the mountain’s side; And she was aware of Sir Thunye there, Standing beneath the linden wide. Out came her mother, the Dwarf’s Lady, And anger shone upon her face: “Now hear Wolfhilda, daughter mine, But ill beseems thee such a place. “Thou’dst better sit within the hill, And sew the linen white as snow, Than come to strike the gold harp here, Beneath the verdant forest bough. “The King of the Dwarfs has wedded thee. Thy free consent he sought and won; Yet thou hast dared Sir Thunye here To chain with stroke of magic Rune.” It was the daughter of the Dwarf Must weeping into the mountain flee; Devoid of sense Sir Thunye went Behind her, nor could hear nor see. But hear what did the wife of the Dwarf: With silk so soft a stool she spread, And there he sat till crow of cock, As though he had been stark and dead. But hear what did the wife of the Dwarf: The book of power forth she brought, Therewith she broke the Runic thrall, Wherein the hero had been caught. “Now have I freed thee from the Runes, They never more can thee oppress: This have I done for honor’s sake, My daughter thee shall not possess. “Much more, Sir Knight, for thee I’ll do, For sheer goodwill and affection pure; I will for thee a bonnier bride Than any elfin maid procure. “I was not born in this wild hill, Of Christian folk I am the child; An only sister I possess, And she Dame Ermeline is stil’d. “She bears the crown in merry England, The crown and queenly dignity; Her daughter dear has stolen been, For thus the tale was told to me. “Her daughter dear has stolen been, She lieth now in strict durance; To blessed Kirk she may not go, And far, far less to merry dance. “She ne’er may out of the window look Except to watch her women stand; Nor play at tables with the King Unless the Queen is close at hand. “Except the King, so aged and grey, No earthly man she e’er has seen; Each night her chamber door is locked, And she who locks it is the Queen. “The Damsel’s named proud Ermeline, She sits in Upsal sorrowing sore; Whilst bolts of steel and iron bars Make fast the Damsel’s chamber door. “The King he has a sister’s son, And Allevod is the name he bears; And he’s to wed the lovely maid As soon as he the Kingdom heirs. “But I will give thee saddle and horse, And golden spurs I will supply; Thou ne’er shalt ride a path so wild But thou shalt reach a hostelry. “And I will garments give to thee, With gold adorned at the seam; And I will give thee a ruddy shield, Wherein the richest diamonds gleam. “And I will give thee a silken band, With roses ’tis embroider’d all; Whilst thou dost bear that girdle fair No word thou say’st shall vainly fall.”