“‘O fairy, now for many days Have I thus helpless lain; No food but these gray mosses, No drink but pearls of rain That through the sunken ceiling Drop to me where I lie, When the blessed clouds in pity Creep downward from the sky. O fairy, I beseech thee, Release me ere I die! For they who keep this castle Are robbers fierce and bold, I’ve learned from bloody stories By one and other told, As night by night, grown merry With wine, their voices rise, And come to me with secrets Through the long galleries. They gather here at midnight From all the country o’er, To hide their plundered treasure Beneath the stone-paved floor, To talk of their adventures And feast till break of day, When quick they mount their horses, And swiftly ride away To seek the mountain-passes And lie in wait for prey. The very steeds that bear them Were stolen, and they tell Of three who once rode hither, On whom they, waiting, fell And slew, and of three others Who up the mountain came, And yet again three others; And all did fare the same. And now—for who could doubt it?— Those were the missing nine! Oh! I would bear the tidings, The prize it should be mine, But that thus bound with irons And helpless here I lie. Good fairy, I beseech thee, Release me ere I die!’ “Such was the tale he told me. O Jungenthor, I plead That thou wilt lift thy mighty arm And help him in his need.” When the fairy had finished speaking, The giant stood up and knocked Again and again on the ceiling, Till the ruined castle rocked, And the roof fell in With a deafening din, And the stones fell out And tumbled about; And the thieves who merrily feasted, Or ever they could take flight, The earth gaped wide and swallowed, Then closed and covered from sight. “Ha, ha!” laughed Giant Jungenthor, “Haven’t I served them right?” But there was one part of the castle— The tow’r where the young lad lay— Left standing (and who denieth That it stands there to this day?) The door it had flown wide open At the knocking of Jungenthor, The iron chain It had snapped in twain, And the captive was free once more. And still in his clanking fetters, Wasted, and weak, and wan, He crawled away to the forest, He wandered and wandered on. Bewildered and faint, all slowly Here and there did he stray, Till he saw a snow-white charger, With saddle and trappings gay, Feeding among the herbage, And him did he mount straightway, Saying, “Good steed, O speed, O speed! And carry me, carry me, carry me Safe to the King this day!”