My story’s of the olden day

Beside the hurrying, blue Rhine water,—

My story’s of a runaway,—

The Giant Niedeck’s little daughter!

She wanders at her own sweet will,

Her flaxen ringlets wide she tosses:

A dozen steps—she climbs the hill,

A dozen more—a vineyard crosses!

The pine trees young aside are brushed,

As though they were but nodding grasses;

She laughs aloud—the birds are hushed,

And hide away until she passes!

She heeds them not,—the giant mite,

So bent upon her own wild pleasure;

And now she sees a wondrous sight,

A curious thing for her to treasure!

“Oh, what a lovely toy I’ve found!”

She clapped her hands in childish wonder.

(The great trees trembled, miles around,

The rocks gave back a sound like thunder.)

A plowman with his horse,—the toy,—

A plowman at his daily drudging:

She snatched them up with eager joy;

And home the giant child went trudging.

She reached the castle out of breath,

And from her pocket (says my fable)

She drew the ploughman, scared to death,

And laid him swooning on the table.

And then away in haste she sped,

To bring her nurse and lady mother;

“Now, burn my wooden dolls,” she said.

“Live toys are best—I’ll have no other!”

The giant lady, fair and mild,

Thus spake unto her little daughter:

“Go, take the plowman back, my child,

To fields beside the blue Rhine water.

“Though weak and small, his heart is great;

And Liebchen, if we kept him here,

All day, beside his cottage gate,

Would weep for him his children dear.”

Then back the giant child did go,

And left the plowman where she found him;

And when the sun was sinking low,

He started up and looked around him.

“I must have dreamed,” he laughed outright,

As when some sudden fancy pleases;

“And I will tell my dream to-night

When Gretchen for a story teases!”