ushing of the waters and the sighing of the wind. At last he mounted
his horse unwillingly and rode home, but did not say a word to any one
of his excursion and his adventure.

He was sitting in the garden a week afterwards, and thinking that the
swallows must have forgotten his message, when a great eagle circled
above him high in the air. The bird gradually descended, and at length
alighted on the branch of a lime-tree near the prince, and thus
addressed him: "I bring you greetings from the old sorcerer in Finland,
who hopes that you will not think ill of him that he did not reply to
your message sooner, for he could not find a messenger who was coming
this way. It is a very simple matter to disenchant the maiden. You have
only to go to the bank of the river, throw off your clothes, and smear
yourself all over with mud till not a speck remains white. Then take the
tip of your nose between your fingers, and say, 'Let the man become a
crayfish.' Immediately you will become a crayfish, when you can descend
into the river without any fear of being drowned. Squeeze yourself
boldly under the roots of the water-lily, and clear them from mud and
reeds, so that no portion remains fixed. Then grasp one of the roots
with your pincers, and the water will raise you with the flower to the
surface. Allow yourself to drift with the stream till you see a
rowan-tree[133] with leafy branches on the left bank. Near the
rowan-tree is a rock about as high as a small bath-house. When you reach
the rock you must say, 'Let the water-lily become a maiden and the
crayfish a man!' and it will be accomplished immediately." When the
eagle had delivered his message, he spread his wings, and flew away. The
young man looked after him for a time, not knowing what to think of the
whole affair.

A week passed by, and found him still undecided, for he had neither
courage nor confidence sufficient to undertake such an enterprise. At
length a crow said to him, "Why do you neglect to follow the old man's
advice? The old sorcerer has never given false information, and the
language of birds never deceives. Hasten to the river, and let the
maiden dry your tears of longing." This gave the young man courage, for
he reflected, "Nothing worse can befall me but death, and death is
easier than constant weeping." He mounted his horse and took the
well-known path to the banks of the river. When he came to the bridge,
he could distinguish the song:

"By my mothe