human
Do thou not, O mother, ask me, Do not question me in thiswise 30 How your daughter may be living, How your dear one now is dwelling! Death has borne her off already, Grisly death has seized upon her. In the ground is now my berry, On the heath is now my fair one, And her dark locks 'neath the stubble, 'Neath the grass my silver-fair one. Give me now your second daughter, Give me now that youthful maiden, 40 Give her to me, dearest mother, Give me now your second daughter, Thus to occupy the dwelling, And the station of her sister.