Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/84

 The hands were given to the lad, He rode back to the forest sad.
 * Hand me, my boy, the living water,
 * I soon will heal this ill-starred daughter,
 * Without a scar, I’ll heal her.”

Wound upon wound he gently pressed; It grew together like the rest,
 * And the dead hands warmed with living heat,
 * And grew to the body as was meet,
 * But no scar was to be seen.

Up, my lad, and be on the way, I have a whirl to sell this day;
 * In the king’s palace they will buy it;
 * But listen: Only for eyes I sell it,
 * No other pay will answer.”

The lad jumped on his fiery steed, The precious whirl he held with heed.
 * The queen looked out of the window high,
 * If I had that whirl—and she did sigh,
 * To match my golden distaff.

Get up, my mother, from your seat, And ask the price of that whirl so neat!”
 * For eyes, my lady! The whirl to-day,
 * ’Tis my father’s will, I must obey,
 * For two eyes you can have it.”

For two eyes! Are you crazy, lad? Who is your father, speak out, lad?”
 * Who is my father, you need not know,
 * Those who seek him, find him not I know,
 * But he'll come to you I ween.”

Mother, mother, what shall I say? I must have that whirl come what may!”
 * So bring our Dorothy’s eyes, I pray;
 * I must have that whirl this very day,
 * Give him our Dorothy’s eyes.”