need your help.' (There's no refusing

Such an appeal.) 'You see, perusing

A book of magic once, I read

That where rise mighty hills, and breakers

Against them smash, in a forsaken

Stone vault, known to no human, lies

A magic sword that was created

By baneful spirits. Fascinated,

I studied hard and learnt the meaning

Of secret words, in this wise gleaning

A truth to great fears giving rise:

That this sword, so the skies portend

And fate wills, both our lives will end

By parting us, my friend and brother,

Me from my beard, you from your head.

We must procure the sword, none other,

And 'thout delay'. 'Well, well,' I said,

'What's stopping us? We need not tarry!

You'll point the way out. Come, now, hurry,

Get on my shoulder, brother mine;

On to the other one a pine

I'll hoist. If need be we will go

To the earth's very end.' And so

Upon our way at once we started,

And, God be thanked, as if to spite

The soothsay, all at first went right,

And those far mountains, happy-hearted,

I reached at last and went beyond,

And there the secret dungeon found,

And with my bare hands broke it open

And drew the sword out, always hoping

That fate would merciful remain.

But no! We quarrelled once again.