I run fast, little Mother,
But still I could never
Have followed the robber 260
If not for the traces
She left; because, Mother,
Her breasts hung so low
(She was suckling her children)
They dragged on the earth
And left two tracks of blood.
But further the grey one
Went slower and slower;
And then she looked back
And she saw I was coming. 270
At last she sat down.
With my whip then I lashed her;
''Come, give me the lamb,
You grey devil!'' She crouched,
But would not give it up.
I said--''I must save it
Although she should kill me.''
I threw myself on her
And snatched it away,
But she did not attack me. 280
The lamb was quite dead,
She herself was scarce living.
She gnashed with her teeth
And her breathing was heavy;
And two streams of blood ran
From under her body.
Her ribs could be counted,