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 ‘She's down along the Brown Dwarfs,’ said the dream-wives wise and old,
And prayers were made, and masses said, and Rambin's church bell tolled.
Five years her father mourned her; and then John Deitrich said:
‘I will find my little playmate, be she alive or dead.’
He watched among the Nine Hills, he heard the Brown Dwarfs sing,
And saw them dance by moonlight merrily in a ring.
And when their gay-robed leader tossed up his cap of red,
Young Deitrich caught it as it fell, and thrust it on his head.
The Troll came crouching at his feet and wept for lack of it.
‘Oh, give me back my magic cap, for your great head unfit!’
‘Nay,’ Deitrich said; “the Dwarf who throws his charmed cap away,
Must serve its finder at his will, and for his folly pay.
You stole my pretty Lisbeth, and hid her in the earth;
And you shall ope the door of glass and let me lead her forth. “
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