Romantic Ballads [6]
best belov'd friend thou didst boast to have slain, And I have aveng'd him by giving thee bane:
"Not Helga, but Hela, {1} shall now be thy bride; Dark blue are her cheeks, and she looks stony-eyed."
"Sir Erik, thy words are both witty and wise, And hell, when it has thee, will have a rich prize!
"Convey unto Helga her gold ring so red; Be sure to inform her when Fridleif is dead;
"But flame shall give water, and marble shall bleed, Before thou shalt win by this treacherous deed:
"And I will not die like a hound, in the straw, But go, like a hero, to Odin and Thor."
He cut himself thrice, with his keen-cutting glaive, And went to Valhalla, {2} the way of the brave.
The knight bade his daughter come into the room: "Look here, my sweet child, on thy merry bridegroom."
She look'd on the body, and gave a wild start; "O father, why hadst thou so cruel a heart?"
She moan'd and lamented, she rav'd and she curst; She look'd on her love, till her very eyes burst.
At midnight, Sir Erik was standing there mute, With two pallid corses beside his cold foot:
He stood stiff and still; and when morning-light came, He stood, like a post, without life in his frame.
The youth and the maid were together interr'd, Sir Erik could not from his posture be stirr'd:
He stood there, as stiffly, for thirty long days, And look'd on the earth with a petrified gaze.
'T is said, on the night of the thirtieth long day, To dust and to ashes he moulder'd away.
SIR MIDDEL. FROM THE OLD DANISH.
So tightly was Swanelil lacing her vest, That forth spouted milk, from each lily-white breast; That saw the Queen-mother, and thus she begun: "What maketh the milk from thy bosom to run?" "O this is not milk, my dear mother, I vow; It is but the mead I was drinking just now." "Ha! out on thee minion! these eyes have their sight; Would'st tell me that mead, in its colour, is white?" "Well, well, since the proofs are so glaring and strong, I own that Sir Middel has done me a wrong." "And was he the miscreant? dear shall he pay, For the cloud he has cast on our honour's bright ray; I'll hang him up; yes, I will hang him with scorn, And burn thee to ashes, at breaking of morn." The maiden departed in anguish and wo, And straight to Sir Middel it lists her to go; Arriv'd at the portal, she sounded the bell, "Now wake thee, love, if thou art living and well." Sir Middel he heard her, and sprang from his bed; Not knowing her voice, in confusion he said, "Away: for I have neither candle nor light, And I swear that no mortal shall enter this night!" "Now busk ye, Sir Middel, in Christ's holy name; I fly from my mother, who knows of my shame; She'll hang thee up; yes, she will hang thee with scorn, And burn me to ashes, at breaking of morn." "Ha! laugh at her threat'nings, so empty and wild; She neither shall hang me, nor burn thee, my child: Collect what is precious, in jewels and garb, And I'll to the stable and saddle my barb." He gave her the cloak, that he us'd at his need, And he lifted her up, on the broad-bosom'd steed. The forest is gain'd, and the city is past, When her eyes to the heaven she wistfully cast. "What ails thee, dear maid? we had better now stay, For thou art fatigu'd by the length of the way." "I am not fatigu'd by the length of the way; But my seat is uneasy, in truth, I must say." He spread, on the cold earth, his mantle so wide; "Now rest thee, my love, and I'll watch by thy side." "O Jesus, that one of my maidens were near! The pains of a mother are on me, I fear." "Thy maidens are now at a distance from thee, And thou art alone in the forest with me." "'Twere better to perish, again and again, Than thou should'st stand by me, and gaze on my pain." "Then take off thy kerchief, and cover my head, And perhaps I may stand in the wise-woman's stead." "O Christ, that I had but a draught of the wave! To quench my death-thirst, and my temples to lave." Sir Middel was to her so tender and true, And he fetch'd her the drink in her gold-spangled shoe. The fountain was distant, and when he drew near, Two
"Not Helga, but Hela, {1} shall now be thy bride; Dark blue are her cheeks, and she looks stony-eyed."
"Sir Erik, thy words are both witty and wise, And hell, when it has thee, will have a rich prize!
"Convey unto Helga her gold ring so red; Be sure to inform her when Fridleif is dead;
"But flame shall give water, and marble shall bleed, Before thou shalt win by this treacherous deed:
"And I will not die like a hound, in the straw, But go, like a hero, to Odin and Thor."
He cut himself thrice, with his keen-cutting glaive, And went to Valhalla, {2} the way of the brave.
The knight bade his daughter come into the room: "Look here, my sweet child, on thy merry bridegroom."
She look'd on the body, and gave a wild start; "O father, why hadst thou so cruel a heart?"
She moan'd and lamented, she rav'd and she curst; She look'd on her love, till her very eyes burst.
At midnight, Sir Erik was standing there mute, With two pallid corses beside his cold foot:
He stood stiff and still; and when morning-light came, He stood, like a post, without life in his frame.
The youth and the maid were together interr'd, Sir Erik could not from his posture be stirr'd:
He stood there, as stiffly, for thirty long days, And look'd on the earth with a petrified gaze.
'T is said, on the night of the thirtieth long day, To dust and to ashes he moulder'd away.
SIR MIDDEL. FROM THE OLD DANISH.
So tightly was Swanelil lacing her vest, That forth spouted milk, from each lily-white breast; That saw the Queen-mother, and thus she begun: "What maketh the milk from thy bosom to run?" "O this is not milk, my dear mother, I vow; It is but the mead I was drinking just now." "Ha! out on thee minion! these eyes have their sight; Would'st tell me that mead, in its colour, is white?" "Well, well, since the proofs are so glaring and strong, I own that Sir Middel has done me a wrong." "And was he the miscreant? dear shall he pay, For the cloud he has cast on our honour's bright ray; I'll hang him up; yes, I will hang him with scorn, And burn thee to ashes, at breaking of morn." The maiden departed in anguish and wo, And straight to Sir Middel it lists her to go; Arriv'd at the portal, she sounded the bell, "Now wake thee, love, if thou art living and well." Sir Middel he heard her, and sprang from his bed; Not knowing her voice, in confusion he said, "Away: for I have neither candle nor light, And I swear that no mortal shall enter this night!" "Now busk ye, Sir Middel, in Christ's holy name; I fly from my mother, who knows of my shame; She'll hang thee up; yes, she will hang thee with scorn, And burn me to ashes, at breaking of morn." "Ha! laugh at her threat'nings, so empty and wild; She neither shall hang me, nor burn thee, my child: Collect what is precious, in jewels and garb, And I'll to the stable and saddle my barb." He gave her the cloak, that he us'd at his need, And he lifted her up, on the broad-bosom'd steed. The forest is gain'd, and the city is past, When her eyes to the heaven she wistfully cast. "What ails thee, dear maid? we had better now stay, For thou art fatigu'd by the length of the way." "I am not fatigu'd by the length of the way; But my seat is uneasy, in truth, I must say." He spread, on the cold earth, his mantle so wide; "Now rest thee, my love, and I'll watch by thy side." "O Jesus, that one of my maidens were near! The pains of a mother are on me, I fear." "Thy maidens are now at a distance from thee, And thou art alone in the forest with me." "'Twere better to perish, again and again, Than thou should'st stand by me, and gaze on my pain." "Then take off thy kerchief, and cover my head, And perhaps I may stand in the wise-woman's stead." "O Christ, that I had but a draught of the wave! To quench my death-thirst, and my temples to lave." Sir Middel was to her so tender and true, And he fetch'd her the drink in her gold-spangled shoe. The fountain was distant, and when he drew near, Two