Eleven swans for eleven brothers,
Who could save them? Eliza and no other.
She knits and sews shirts only from nettle
Accused of witchcraft, her fate is settled.
The saints shake their head, they must protest
Though the Royal condemnation will give her no rest.
Day after day, night after night
She feverishly works with an end in sight.
The crowd gathers, the clouds part
The mob is baying for her blood and her heart.
But out of the blue appears the brothers eleven
Swooping down like vengeance from heaven.
Wild swans that fly over shine the brightest of lights
Over Eliza’s innocence, to put things to right.