Of personal beauty they have not much to boast: the Ebeltoft Dwarfs, mentioned above, were often seen, and they had immoderate humps on their backs, and long crooked noses. They were dressed in gray jackets,[157] and they wore pointed red caps. Old people in Zealand say, that when the Trolls were in the country, they used to go from their hill to the village of Gudmandstrup through the Stone-meadow, and that people, when passing that way, used to meet great tall men in long black clothes. Some have foolishly spoken to them, and wished them good evening, but they never got any other answer than that the Trolls hurried past them, saying, Mi! mi! mi! mi! Thanks to the industry of Mr. Thiele, who has been indefatigable in collecting the traditions of his native country, we are furnished with ample accounts of the Trolls; and the following legends will fully illustrate what we have written concerning them.[158] We commence with the Swedish ballads of the Hill-kings, as in dignity and antiquity they take precedence of the legends. _Sir Thynne._ And it was the knight Sir Thynnè, He was a knight so grave; Whether he were on foot or on horse, He was a knight so brave.[159] And it was the knight Sir Thynnè Went the hart and the hind to shoot, So he saw Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter, At the green linden's foot. And it was Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter, Unto her handmaid she cried, "Go fetch my gold harp hither to me, Sir Thynnè I'll draw to my side." The first stroke on her gold harp she struck, So sweetly she made it ring, The wild beasts in the wood and field They forgot whither they would spring. The next stroke on her gold harp she struck, So sweetly she made it ring, The little gray hawk that sat on the bough, He spread out both his wings. The third stroke on her gold harp she struck, So sweetly she made it ring, The little fish that went in the stream, He forgot whither he would swim. Then flowered the mead, then leafed all, 'Twas caused by the runic lay;[160] Sir Thynnè he struck his spurs in his horse, He no longer could hold him away. And it was the knight Sir Thynnè, From his horse he springs hastily, So goeth he to Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter, All under the green linden tree. "Here you sit, my maiden fair, A rose all lilies above; See you can never a mortal man Who will not seek your love." "Be silent, be silent, now Sir Thynnè, With your proffers of love, I pray; For I am betrothed unto a hill-king, A king all the Dwarfs obey. "My true love he sitteth the hill within, And at gold tables plays merrily; My father he setteth his champions in ring, And in iron arrayeth them he.