  (A Floury Tale.) The Princess’ hair hath golden sheen, And her cheek is lily-pale; But none may look in her eyes, I ween And live to tell the tale. From out the south, and eke the north, And from the east and west, Full many a gallant knight rides forth Upon the fatal quest. For a cruel spell on the Princess lies No mortal can undo Till one shall look into her eyes And tell their color true. And some of them swear her eyes are green, And some that they are black, And many a knight rides forth, I ween, But never a one rides back. For a cruel spell on the Princess lies, And whoso will may try His fate, and look into her eyes; But whoso quails must die. * * * The miller’s son is a dusty youth, And dusty curls hath he. Quoth he, “I’ll go myself, forsooth, And set this Princess free.” The miller’s son he hath no spear Nor sword nor coat-of-mail, But an honest heart that knows not fear— Heaven grant he may not fail! The miller’s son at the portal knocks, At the Princess’ feet he bends, And he tosses aside his floury locks And a floury cloud ascends. The Princess’ face in a mist of white Is veiled as with a veil, Her eyes are dimmed of their deadly light, And the miller doth not quail. The Princess’ hair hath golden sheen, Her cheek is red, red rose, And her eyes? * * * Go ask the Prince— I mean The miller’s son—he knows. |
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