Upon the marshy oak and linden covered island of Sör, when the grass
starts forth in the spring, are to be seen, here and there, circles of
a deeper green than the surrounding grass, which the people say mark
the places where Elves have had their ring dances.
While the provost, Lille Strale, was pastor of the parish church, a
servant was sent out late one evening to bring a horse in from a
pasture. Plodding along as best he could in the darkness, he had not
gone far when it was discovered that he had lost his way, and, turn
which way he would, he could not find the sought for meadow.
Exhausted at last by constant walking, he sat down at the foot of an
oak to rest himself. Presently strains of lovely music reached his
ears, and he saw, quite near, a multitude of little people engaged in a
lively ring dance upon the sward. So light were their footsteps that
the tops of the grass blades were scarcely moved.
In the middle of the ring stood the Elf Queen herself, taller and more
beautiful than the others, with a golden crown upon her head and her
clothes sparkling in the moonlight with gold and precious stones.
Beckoning to him, she said: “Come, Anders, and tread a dance with me!”
and Anders, thinking it would be impolite not to comply with the
request of a woman so beautiful, rose and stepped bowing into the ring.
Poor lad, he did not know what a fate awaited him who ventured to
participate in the sports of the Elves. How the dance terminated is not
known, but at its conclusion the young man found himself again under
the oak, and from that hour he was never again wholly himself. From
being the most lively and cheerful young man in the village, he became
the dullest and most melancholy, and, before the year had gone, his
days were ended.