I
Open fields around the wood lie,
whence a lord out riding comes nigh,
his mount is a lively jet-black steed;
the horseshoes ring merrily at speed,
he rides all alone.

By a cottage he dismounts—hop,
the cottage door knocks: clop, clop, clop.
“Hey there, open the door to me, pray!
I’ve been hunting and I’ve lost my way,
give me some water!”

Out came a girl like a posy,
rare beauty, her cheeks were rosy;
she brought him water drawn from the well,
sat modestly at her spinning wheel,
spinning, spinning flax.

What he wanted the lord knew not,
now his great thirst he quite forgot;
he’s amazed to see the fine straight thread
but there’s no way his gaze can avoid
the fair spinning girl.

“If your hand’s not given away,
you must become my wife today!”
he draws the young girl unto his side—
“Oh, my lord, but I have to abide
by mother’s say so.”

“Well then, where is your mother, dear?
For I see no-one around here.”—
“Step-mother and daughter are away,
they are not at home, my lord, today,
they have gone to town.”

II
Open fields around the wood lie,
again the lord comes riding by;
his mount is a lively jet-black steed;
the horseshoes ring merrily at speed,
straight to the cottage.

By the cottage he dismounts—hop, 
knocks the cottage door: clop, clop, clop. 
“Hey, open up, you kind folk, come on! 
Let me set eyes instantly upon
the joy of my life!”

An old hag emerged, all skin and bone.
“What bringst, noble guest” begged the crone.
“I bring, I bring, changes in your life,
I want your daughter to be my wife,
your step-daughter, mind.”

“Ah, dear man, that’s incredible,
who would have thought it possible?
Noble guest, I bid you here welcome,
but sir, I do not know where you’re from
nor what is your name.”

“In this land I am lord and king,
yesterday chanced to be passing:
I’ll give you silver, I’ll give you gold,
to have your daughter I will make bold,
the fair spinning girl.”

“Majesty, that’s incredible,
who would have thought it possible?
We are not worthy, majesty, see!
I wish so deserving we could be,
of your great kindness.

But I have advice, this advice:
take my own daughter in her place
For she is just like the other girl,
which is which truly no-one can tell—
her thread is of silk!”

“Woman, your advice is not sound,
you will do just as I command:
for tomorrow, at the break of day,
you will give your stepdaughter away
at the king’s castle.”

III
“Arise, daughter, let’s not be late,
the king awaits to celebrate;
that this could happen I never guessed
you’ll find I’ve arranged all for the best
at the king’s castle.”

“My sister dear, get smartly dressed,
in the king’s castle be your best;
you’ve set your sights very high, you know,
leaving me, humbled one, down below.—
Well, good luck to you!”

“Come now, come, our dearest Dora,
give your groom no cause for anger;
when you’re in the wood beyond the pale,
you will not recall your home at all—
come now, come, hurry!”

“Mother, dear mother, tell me true,
why you’re taking that knife with you”—
“The knife is useful—for where it lies
we’ll gouge out an evil serpent’s eyes—
come now, come, hurry.!”

“Sister, dear sister, tell me true,
why you’re taking that axe with you.”
“The axe is useful—in the forest
we’ll cut off the legs of a wild beast.”—
come now, come, hurry!”

And when the said places were reached:
“Lo, you are that serpent, that beast!”
Hills and valleys around were weeping
to see what two women were doing
to the poor young girl!

“Go enjoy yourself with the king,
with him you’ll enjoy everything.
You can embrace his lithe body now
and you can gaze upon his clear brow,
lovely spinning girl!”

“Mother dear, oh please do advise,
what to do with those legs and eyes.”—
“By her body they should not remain,
for someone might attach them again—
so take them with you”

And when they emerged from the wood:
“Daughter of mine, don’t be afraid,
for you are just like the other girl,
which is which truly no-one can tell—
you’ve nothing to fear!”

As they approach the castle, lo,
the king watches from a window;
out to meet them the king and guards ride
to welcome the mother and the bride,
no treachery guessed.

The wedding took place—sin so vile,
the bride wore an incessant smile;
feasts galore, everyone rejoicing,
and unceasing music and dancing,
till the seventh day.

But at daybreak on the eighth day
king and army must go away:
“I wish you happiness, my dear wife,
I have to join in this cruel strife
with the enemy.

Then if I return from the war,
our love will flourish even more.
Keeping memory of me, meanwhile,
see you work at your spinning wheel,
spin away at home.”

IV
Among deserted bush and grass,
what next became of that poor lass?
From her six open wounds the blood flowed,
oozing away was all her lifeblood,
into the green moss.

Once was sudden great happiness,
now she’s facing death in darkness:
her body turns cold, blood flows away—
o woe, o woe, now she rues the day
when the king saw her!

Amid rocks somewhere in the wood,
a strange-looking man then appeared:
his grey beard reached down to his knees—
he bore that body on his shoulders,
took it to a cave.

“Get up, my lad, run with all speed,
carry this spinning wheel of gold,
and offer it in the king’s castle,
but accept nothing else—you may sell
only for her legs.”—

Under the gateway sat the lad;
gold spinning wheel in hand he had,
from a window espied by the queen:
“If only that spinning wheel was mine,
that’s made of pure gold.

Go, mother, go and ask forthwith
what that golden spinning wheel’s worth.”—
“Buy it lady, it’s not dear for you,
my father thinks it has no value,
for two legs it’s yours.”

“Two legs? What a strange thing to say!
But I must have it anyway;
go up to the chamber, dear mother,
there you’ll find the legs of our Dora,
give him them for it.”

The two legs the lad accepted
and back to the wood he hurried.—
“Give me the water of life, my lad,
so she will be again quite unharmed,
as she used to be.”

Wound to wound together he joined;
in the legs fire was rekindled,
the body grew together as one,
complete, as it had always been known;
it was quite unharmed.

“Go, my lad, fetch down from the shelf
and bring me the golden distaff:
you’ll offer it in the king’s castle,
but accept nothing else; you may sell
only for her arms.”—

Under the gateway sat the lad;
the gold distaff in hand he had,
from a window espied by the queen:
“If only that distaff there was mine,
like the spinning wheel.”

“Go, mother, go and ask forthwith
what that golden distaff is worth”—
“Buy it lady, it’s not dear for you,
my father thinks it has no value,
for two arms it’s yours.”

“Two arms? What a strange thing to say!
But I must have it anyway;
go up to the chamber, dear mother,
there you’ll find the arms of our Dora,
give him them for it.”

The two arms the lad accepted
and back to the wood he hurried.—
“Give me the water of life, my lad,
so she will be again quite unharmed,
as she used to be.”

Wound to wound together he joined;
in the arms fire was rekindled,
the body grew together as one,
complete, as it had always been known;
it was quite unharmed.

“Go, my lad, now get you goin’,
bring me here the golden bobbin:
and offer it in the king’s castle,
but accept nothing else—you may sell
only for her eyes.”—

Under the gateway sat the lad;
the gold bobbin in hand he had
from a window espied by the queen:
“If only that bobbin there was mine,
just like the distaff.

Go, mother, go and ask forthwith
what that golden bobbin is worth.”—
“Buy it lady, it’s not dear for you,
my father thinks it has no value,
for two eyes it’s yours.”

“Two eyes? That’s unheard of, rather!
Now, young lad, who is your father?”—
“My father you do not need to know;
you won’t find him anywhere you go,
he may just turn up.”—

“Mother dear, what is to be done?
I really must have that bobbin!
Go back to that chamber once again,
where the eyes of our Dora remain,
he can take them now.”

The two eyes the lad accepted
and back to the wood he hurried.—
“Give me the water of life, my lad,
so she will be again quite unharmed,
as she used to be.”

The eyes in their sockets he placed;
and the dead fire was rekindled;
the maiden looked all around her then—
but there was nobody to be seen,
apart from herself.

V
When three weeks had passed and gone by,
The king rode back home by and by.
“Well, my dear lady, what do I find?
Have you been always keeping in mind
the last words I said?”

“Oh, I kept them close to my heart,
Just look at these things I have bought:
a spinning wheel that is unrivalled,
a distaff and bobbin—all of gold,
out of love for you.”

“Come, my dear lady, sit with me,
spin with love a gold thread for me.”—
She gladly sat at the spinning wheel,
but, as soon as she span, she grew pale—
oh woe, what’s this song?

“Whirr—evil thread you are spinning!
for you came to deceive the king:
you vilely killed your own step-sister,
of her limbs and her eyes deprived her—
whirr—that’s evil thread!”

“What is this spinning wheel I see?
How strangely you play it for me!
Play, my wife, on it for me again
I cannot fathom what these words mean:
spin, my dear wife, spin!”

“Whirr—evil thread you are spinning!
You wanted to deceive the king:
for you so vilely killed the true bride;
having removed her, you came instead—
whirr—that’s evil thread!”

“Oh, you play frightfully for me!
You are not she you seemed to be!
Play for me, my lady, a third time,
I want to hear still more of this rhyme:
Spin, my lady, spin!”

“Whirr—evil thread you are spinning!
You have come to deceive the king:
your sister’s in a cave in the wood,
you have stolen away the king’s bride—
whirr—rhat’s evil thread!”

As soon as the king heard these words,
he rode his black steed to the woods;
he searched and he called out far and wide,
“Where are you, my dear Dora, my bride,
where are you, my love?”—

VI
Now to the castle from the wood,
come riding out lady and lord:
their mount is a lively jet-black steed;
the horseshoes ring merrily at speed,
for the castle bound.

Then the wedding once more took place,
the virgin bride, flower of grace.
feasts galore, everyone rejoicing,
and unceasing music and dancing
lasting for three weeks.

What became of that bad mother?
And what of the serpent daughter?—
Hey, four wolves in the wood howl and screech,
and they are carrying one leg each,
legs of two women.

Their eyes had been gouged from their heads,
and ripped away were all their limbs:
what they had done to the young maiden
the same to them both had now been done
in the deep forest.

What of that golden spinning wheel?
Of what will it now sing, and tell?
It just came for a third time to play,
and never to be heard since that day,
never again seen.