Romantic Ballads [20]
the undermost caves and abysses.
"Rise, fair-headed swain, and refuse not to dance; and I and my sister will sing thee The loveliest ditties that ever were heard, and the prettiest presents will bring thee."
Then both of them sang so delightful a song, that the boisterous river before us Stood suddenly quiet and placid, as though 't were afraid to disturb the sweet chorus.
The boisterous stream stood suddenly still, though accustom'd to foam and to bellow; And, fearless, the trout play'd along with the pike, and the pike play'd with him as his fellow.
The fishes, whose dwelling was deep in the flood, up, up from their caverns did sally; The gay little birds of the forest began to warble, forthwith, in the valley.
"Now, listen thou fair-headed swain, and if thou wilt stand up and dance for a minute, We'll teach thee to open the sorcerer's book, and to read all the Runic that's in it.
"The bear and the wolf thou shalt trammel, unto the thick stem of the oak, at thy pleasure; Before thee the dragon shall fly from his nest, and shall leave thee sole lord of his treasure."
Then about and around on the moonlight hill, in their fairy fashion they sported, While unmov'd sat the gallant and fair young swain, whom they, in their wantonness, courted.
"And wilt thou not grant us our civil request, proud stripling, and wilt thou deny it? By hell's ruddy blazes, our gold-handled knife shall lay thee for ever in quiet."
And if my good luck had not manag'd it so, that the cock crew out, then, in the distance, I should have been murder'd by them, on the hill, without power to offer resistance.
'T is therefore I counsel each young Danish swain, who may ride in the forest so dreary, Ne'er to lay down upon lone Elvir Hill though he chance to be ever so weary.
WALDEMAR'S CHASE.
The following Ballad is merely a versification of one of the many feats of Waldemar, the famed phantom hunter of the North, an account of whom, and of Palnatoka and Groon the Jutt, both spectres of a similar character, may be found in Thiele's Danske Folkesagn.
Late at eve they were toiling on Harribee bank, For in harvest men ne'er should be idle: Towards them rode Waldemar, meagre and lank, And he linger'd and drew up his bridle.
"Success to your labour; and have ye to night Seen any thing pass ye, while reaping?" "Yes, yes;" said a peasant, "I saw something white, Just now, through the corn-stubble creeping."
"Which way did it go?" "Why methought to the beach." Then off went Waldemar bounding; A few minutes after, they heard a faint screech, And the horn of the hunter resounding.
Then back came he, laughing in horrible tone, And the blood in their veins ran the colder, When they saw that a fresh-slaughter'd mermaid was thrown Athwart his proud barb's dappled shoulder.
Said he, "I have chas'd her for seven score years, As she landed to drink at the fountains." No more did he deign to their terrified ears, But gallop'd away to the mountains.
THE MERMAN. FROM THE OLD DANISH.
"Do thou, dear Mother, contrive amain How Marsk Stig's daughter I may gain."
She made him, of water, a noble steed, Whose trappings were form'd from rush and reed.
To a young knight chang'd she then her son; To Mary's church at full speed he's gone.
His foaming horse to the gate he bound, And pac'd the church full three times round:
When in he walk'd with his plume on high, The dead men gave from their tombs a sigh:
The priest heard that, and he clos'd his book; "Methinks yon knight has a strange wild look."
Then laugh'd the maiden beneath her sleeve; "If he were my husband I should not grieve."
He stepp'd over benches one and two: "O, Marsk Stig's daughter, I doat on you."
He stepp'd over benches two and three: "O, Marsk Stig's daughter, come home with me."
Then said the maid, without more ado, "Here take my troth, I will go with you."
They went from the church a bridal train, And danc'd so gaily across the plain;
They danc'd till they came to the strand, and then They
"Rise, fair-headed swain, and refuse not to dance; and I and my sister will sing thee The loveliest ditties that ever were heard, and the prettiest presents will bring thee."
Then both of them sang so delightful a song, that the boisterous river before us Stood suddenly quiet and placid, as though 't were afraid to disturb the sweet chorus.
The boisterous stream stood suddenly still, though accustom'd to foam and to bellow; And, fearless, the trout play'd along with the pike, and the pike play'd with him as his fellow.
The fishes, whose dwelling was deep in the flood, up, up from their caverns did sally; The gay little birds of the forest began to warble, forthwith, in the valley.
"Now, listen thou fair-headed swain, and if thou wilt stand up and dance for a minute, We'll teach thee to open the sorcerer's book, and to read all the Runic that's in it.
"The bear and the wolf thou shalt trammel, unto the thick stem of the oak, at thy pleasure; Before thee the dragon shall fly from his nest, and shall leave thee sole lord of his treasure."
Then about and around on the moonlight hill, in their fairy fashion they sported, While unmov'd sat the gallant and fair young swain, whom they, in their wantonness, courted.
"And wilt thou not grant us our civil request, proud stripling, and wilt thou deny it? By hell's ruddy blazes, our gold-handled knife shall lay thee for ever in quiet."
And if my good luck had not manag'd it so, that the cock crew out, then, in the distance, I should have been murder'd by them, on the hill, without power to offer resistance.
'T is therefore I counsel each young Danish swain, who may ride in the forest so dreary, Ne'er to lay down upon lone Elvir Hill though he chance to be ever so weary.
WALDEMAR'S CHASE.
The following Ballad is merely a versification of one of the many feats of Waldemar, the famed phantom hunter of the North, an account of whom, and of Palnatoka and Groon the Jutt, both spectres of a similar character, may be found in Thiele's Danske Folkesagn.
Late at eve they were toiling on Harribee bank, For in harvest men ne'er should be idle: Towards them rode Waldemar, meagre and lank, And he linger'd and drew up his bridle.
"Success to your labour; and have ye to night Seen any thing pass ye, while reaping?" "Yes, yes;" said a peasant, "I saw something white, Just now, through the corn-stubble creeping."
"Which way did it go?" "Why methought to the beach." Then off went Waldemar bounding; A few minutes after, they heard a faint screech, And the horn of the hunter resounding.
Then back came he, laughing in horrible tone, And the blood in their veins ran the colder, When they saw that a fresh-slaughter'd mermaid was thrown Athwart his proud barb's dappled shoulder.
Said he, "I have chas'd her for seven score years, As she landed to drink at the fountains." No more did he deign to their terrified ears, But gallop'd away to the mountains.
THE MERMAN. FROM THE OLD DANISH.
"Do thou, dear Mother, contrive amain How Marsk Stig's daughter I may gain."
She made him, of water, a noble steed, Whose trappings were form'd from rush and reed.
To a young knight chang'd she then her son; To Mary's church at full speed he's gone.
His foaming horse to the gate he bound, And pac'd the church full three times round:
When in he walk'd with his plume on high, The dead men gave from their tombs a sigh:
The priest heard that, and he clos'd his book; "Methinks yon knight has a strange wild look."
Then laugh'd the maiden beneath her sleeve; "If he were my husband I should not grieve."
He stepp'd over benches one and two: "O, Marsk Stig's daughter, I doat on you."
He stepp'd over benches two and three: "O, Marsk Stig's daughter, come home with me."
Then said the maid, without more ado, "Here take my troth, I will go with you."
They went from the church a bridal train, And danc'd so gaily across the plain;
They danc'd till they came to the strand, and then They