She said:  “I am nought but a woman, a maid of the earl-folk’s kin: 
    And I went by the skirts of the woodland to the house of my sister
      to win,
    And have strayed from the way benighted:  and I fear the wolves and
      the wild
    By the glimmering of thy torchlight from afar was I beguiled. 
    Ah, slay me not on thy threshold, nor send me back again
    Through the rattling waves of thy ford, that I crossed in terror and
      pain;
    Drive me not to the night and the darkness, for the wolves of the
      wood to devour. 
    I am weak and thou art mighty:  I will go at the dawning hour.”

    So Sigmund looked in her face and saw that she was fair;
    And he said:  “Nay, nought will I harm thee, and thou mayst harbour
      here,
    God wot if thou fear’st not me, I have nought to fear thy face: 
    Though this house be the terror of men-folk, thou shalt find it as
      safe a place
    As though I were nought but thy brother; and then mayst thou tell,
      if thou wilt,
    Where dwelleth the dread of the woodland, the bearer of many a guilt,
    Though meseems for so goodly a woman it were all too ill a deed
    In reward for the wood-wight’s guesting to betray him in his need.”

    So he took the hand of the woman and straightway led her in
    Where days agone the Dwarf-kind would their deeds of smithying win: 
    And he kindled the half-slaked embers, and gave her of his cheer
    Amid the gold and the silver, and the fight-won raiment dear;
    And soft was her voice, and she sung him sweet tales of yore agone,
    Till all his heart was softened; and the man was all alone,
    And in many wise she wooed him; so they parted not that night,
    Nor slept till the morrow morning, when the woods were waxen bright: 
    And high above the tree-boughs shone the sister of the moon,
    And hushed were the water-ouzels with the coming of the noon
    When she stepped from the bed of Sigmund, and left the Dwarf’s abode;
    And turned to the dwellings of men, and the ways where the earl-folk
      rode. 
    But next morn from the house of the Goth-king the witch-wife went
      her ways
    With gold and goods and silver, such store as a queen might praise.

But no long while with Sigmund dwelt remembrance of that night;
Amid his kingly longings and his many deeds of might
It fled like the dove in the forest or the down upon the blast: 
Yet heavy and sad were the years, that even in suchwise passed,
As here it is written aforetime. 
Thence were ten years worn by
When unto that hidden river a man-child drew anigh,
And he looked and beheld how Sigmund wrought on a helm of gold
By the crag and the stony dwelling where the Dwarf-kin wrought of old. 
Then the boy cried:  “Thou art the wood-wight of whom my mother spake;