The following story is told in all parts of Sweden:-- "Two boys were one time playing near a river that ran by their father's house. The Neck rose and sat on the surface of the water, and played on his harp; but one of the children said to him, 'What is the use, Neck, of your sitting there and playing? you will never be saved.' The Neck then began to weep bitterly, flung away his harp, and sank down to the bottom. The children went home, and told the whole story to their father, who was the parish priest. He said they were wrong to say so to the Neck, and desired them to go immediately back to the river, and console him with the promise of salvation. They did so: and when they came down to the river the Neck was sitting on the water, weeping and lamenting. They then said to him, 'Neck, do not grieve so; our father says that your Redeemer liveth also.' The Neck then took his harp and played most sweetly, until long after the sun was gone down." This legend is also found in Denmark, but in a less agreeable form. A clergyman, it is said, was journeying one night to Roeskilde in Zealand. His way led by a hill in which there was music and dancing and great merriment going forward. Some dwarfs jumped suddenly out of it, stopped the carriage, and asked him whither he was going. He replied to the synod of the church. They asked him if he thought they could be saved. To that, he replied, he could not give an immediate answer. They then begged that he would give them a reply by next year. When he next passed, and they made the same demand, he replied, "No, you are all damned." Scarcely had he spoken the word, when the whole hill appeared in flames. In another form of this legend, a priest says to the Neck, "Sooner will this cane which I hold in my hand grow green flowers than thou shalt attain salvation." The Neck in grief flung away his harp and wept, and the priest rode on. But soon his cane began to put forth leaves and blossoms, and he then went back to communicate the glad tidings to the Neck who now joyously played on all the entire night.[208] _The Power of the Harp._ Little Kerstin she weeps in her bower all the day; Sir Peter in his courtyard is playing so gay. My heart's own dear! Tell me wherefore you grieve? "Grieve you for saddle, or grieve you for steed? Or grieve you for that I have you wed?" My heart's, &c. "And grieve do I not for saddle or for steed: And grieve do I not for that I have you wed. My heart's, &c. "Much more do I grieve for my fair gold hair, Which in the blue waves shall be stained to-day. My heart's, &c. "Much more do I grieve for Ringfalla flood, In which have been drowned my two sisters proud. My heart's, &c. "It was laid out for me in my infancy, That my wedding-day should prove heavy to me." My heart's, &c.