MISCELLANEOUS BALLADS

XXI, XXII
TORBEN’S DAUGHTER
THE MAIDEN AT THE THING

“Torben’s Daughter” is a fine example of compressed, dramatic narration—we are not even told the names of hero and heroine. It is interesting also as depicting the simplicity of antique manners, when a knight might be found holding the plough. The maiden who pledges her father’s slayer, behaves, though in all innocence, as does the false wife of the Baron of Brackley:

“The lady she feasted them, carried them ben,

She laughed wi’ the men that her baron had slain.”

The second Ballad is that which, greatly daring, sings the praises of simple worth—thus expressing a tendency doomed by the spirit of later times. Unlike the reprover of Clara Vere de Vere, the minstrel adorns his theme with a dry humour, that spares neither hero nor heroine—dowdy country maid and dandified lordling. That is an excellent touch (verse 3) which shows the former’s resentment of the pert page’s remarks on her garments; so is her artful reference to the excellent appetite which will reward her future lord’s agricultural exertions—the ancient wisdom of “Feed the brute!” The Ballad craves a sequel, to be entitled “The Husband turned Husbandman.”

XXI
TORBEN’S DAUGHTER

Oh, we were many sisters small,

—On the lea—

So early did our father fall.

—The day it is dawning, and the dew it is falling so free.

All on a Sunday evening they scoured both spear and sword,

All on a Monday morning wrathful they rode abroad.

When they went by the northern shaw

Sir Torben ploughing his land they saw.

“There standst thou, Sir Torben, so fair and fine!

Now pay me blood-money for kinsman mine.”

“I will give thee farm and stead,

I will give thee my daughter, so fair a maid.”

“We come not hither for house nor land,

We come for the blood of thy red right hand!”

They hewed Sir Torben to pieces small

As the leaves that under the linden fall.

They’re ridden up to Sir Torben’s stead,

And there stood his daughter, so fair a maid.

She stood, as slim as a willow-wand,

With a goblet of gold in either hand.

She poured the wine with sport and play,

She pledged the man who her sire did slay.

“Now had I guessed thee so mild of mood,

I ne’er had spilt thy father’s blood!”

“And if thou hast my father slain,

Then I must dree right bitter pain.”

“And have I done ill to thee thereby

Thou shalt fare hereafter as well as I.”

He set her up on his steed so true,

He wrapped her in his cloak of blue.

They rode away o’er the darksome heather,

—On the lea—

Never more did she see her father.

—The day it is dawning, and the dew it is falling so free.

XXII
THE MAIDEN AT THE THING

Young was Inge the maid,

—In the green grove—

Yet she rode to the Thing unafraid.

—To ride to the maiden’s bower.

Up and spake to his knights the King:

“I spy a maiden that rides to the Thing!”

The little foot-page he answered then:

“Oh, she comes here a-riding to gaze upon the men!

“But see her kirtle’s old-fashioned shape,

And only look on her ill-cut cape!”

For all the maiden was so meek

She heard each word the page did speak.

“And if my heart had felt no tene,

I had been better at home, I ween!

“And did I not know mine errand well,

I had been better at home to dwell!

“But my kirtle hath no ill-favoured shape,

And after the mode is cut my cape.

“Thou King o’ Danes, now hark and hear;

A plaint have I for thy gracious ear.

“I was but a little child

Whenas I lost my mother mild.

“My father set me on his knee,

And divided with me both gold and fee.

“But he died or ever two years were done;

O’er house and lands I must rule alone.

“But in there came my uncles three,

All my goods they waste from me.

“The mown they mar, the sown they spoil,

Both man and maid they lure from toil.

“Oxen and kine they drive abroad,

They wile my serving-men from my board.

“Ere I’ll live longer without relief

I’ll give thee my father’s lands in fief!”

“Now thanks to thee for thy gift, O maid!

Say, which of my knights thou fain wouldst wed?”

“And may I speak as my choice is made,

’Tis Sir Ove Stison I fain would wed.”

“Stand up, Sir Ove, and answer free;

Here is a maiden will marry thee!”

Up stood Sir Ove, and answered so free:

“Fair maiden, nought shalt thou win from me!

“Better can I tie a silken band

Than play the farmer on lea and land.

“Better can I ride with hawk and hound

Than drive the plough through the heavy ground!”

“Oh, sit in my chariot all by me,

So good a farmer I’ll make of thee!

“Take plough in hand, lay the furrow featly,

Take corn in hand, and scatter it meetly.

“And let the harrow after go,

Thou’lt make a goodly farmer so;

“And of thy meat thou’lt be so fain

That men will call thee a right true Dane!”

To laugh and be merry men were not loth

When Sir Ove plighted the maid his troth.

All alone to the Thing she hied,

The King he led her home again, and all his swains beside.

—In the green grove,

To ride to the maiden’s bower.

XXIII, XXIV
THE GAME OF DICE
KING ERIK AND THE SCORNFUL MAID

These two Ballads deal, from different stand-points, with the change of manners that came in towards the close of the Middle Ages. A barrier grew up between bower and hall; the Squire became the serving man, whose menial labours were no longer shared by his master. There were those, doubtless, who regretted the good old times; and the “King Erik” Ballad expresses their sentiments.

“The Game of Dice,” with its more conventional ending, is concerned for gentility. Its Danish version dates from the twelfth or thirteenth century. Other forms exist in Norwegian and Icelandic, and in a Swedish broadsheet of the later eighteenth century. There is also a Slav version.

XXIII
THE GAME OF DICE

“Harken here, thou good young swain,

And play at dice with me!”

“Oh, ne’er have I the ruddy gold

To wager here with thee.”

—Because they played, and threw the dice of gold.

“Oh, wager now thy goodly hat,

Altho’ it be of grey,

And I will wager my snood of pearl,

Shalt take it, an thou may!”

When first the dice of gold

Upon the board did run,

The youth he lost his wager,

And glad the maiden won.

“Harken here, thou good young swain,

And cast the dice with me!”

“Oh, ne’er have I the ruddy gold

To wager here with thee.”

“Now wager thou thy kirtle,

Altho’ it be of grey,

And I will wager my golden crown,

Shalt take it, an thou may!”

When next the dice of gold

Upon the board did run,

The youth he lost his wager,

And glad the maiden won.

“Harken here, thou good young swain,

And play at dice with me!”

“Oh, ne’er have I the ruddy gold

To wager here with thee.”

“Thy hosen shalt thou wager,

And shoon shalt wager both;

I’ll set thereto my honour,

But and my plighted troth.”

And when the dice of gold

Upon the board were cast,

The youth he won the wager,

And sad the maiden lost.

“Harken here, young jackanapes,

And get thee gone from me!

My knife adorned with silver

That will I give to thee.”

“Thy knife adorned with silver

I’ll take it when I may;

But I will have the maiden

I won with dice at play!”

“Harken here, young jackanapes,

And get thee gone from me!

Seven silk-sewn kirtles

All will I give to thee.”

“Thy seven silk-sewn kirtles

I’ll take whenas I may;

But I will have the maiden

I won with dice at play!”

“Harken here, young jackanapes,

And get thee gone from me!

A white steed and saddle

Those will I give to thee.”

“White steed and saddle

I’ll take whene’er I may;

But I will have the maiden

I won with dice at play!”

“Harken here, young jackanapes,

And get thee gone from me!

My hold and my castle

Those will I give to thee.”

“Thy hold and thy castle

I’ll take them when I may;

But I will have the maiden

I won with dice at play!”

The maiden sought her bower,

And there her locks arrayed:

“Now for the match that I must make

God help me, luckless maid!”

All with his sword a-playing

The youth he up and spake:

“Oh, better far than thy deserts

The match that thou shalt make!

“For I am ne’er a jackanapes,

Altho’ it be thy word;

I am the noblest son of kings

That ever walked abroad!”

“Art thou the noblest son of kings

That ever walked abroad,

Then shalt thou have mine honour,

But and my plighted word!”

—Because they played, and threw the dice of gold.

XXIV
KING ERIK AND THE SCORNFUL MAID

All so rich a damsel

Dwells southward in our land,

And ne’er to dance with a poor young swain

Will she stretch forth her hand.

—Damsel, great is thy favour! I thank thee right courteously.

Ne’er to dance with a poor young swain

Will she hold forth her hand;

She’s tied up her sleeves with ribbons of silk

And many a golden band.

It was young King Erik

Bade saddle his steed so free:

“Forth will we fare to the southland

And visit this proud ladye!”

It was young King Erik

That forth to dance did stand;

He’s taken that dainty damsel

All by her lily hand.

“Now nay, I will not dance with thee!

Too hard are thy hands indeed;

Thou hast been hewing of hedges

Or spreading of muck on the mead!”

“Oh, yestre’en I played at a bridal-feast,

A-tilting with knights so tall,

And hard is my hand with grasping the brand

That won me the prize from all!”

“And wert thou yestre’en at a bridal-feast

There tilted no knights so tall!

Wert loading thy father’s wain with muck,

And deeper in dirt than all.

“Ill they become thee, thy garments,

Thy hosen are rent at the knee;

Thy master hath given thee holiday,

So thou must ride speedilie!”

“Are there no tailors, women or men,

Here in this town o’ thine,

Can cut me clothes of the scarlet cloth

And sew them with silk so fine?”

“Tailors there are, both women and men,

Here in this town o’ mine,

Can cut thee breeches of wadmal coarse

And sew them with hempen twine.”

“Lithe and listen, thou haughty maid,

Wilt yield thy love to me?

All the gold that in Denmark lies

Thy portion it shall be!”

“All the gold that in Denmark lies

Is held in strong duresse;

Get thee gone and patch thy shoon!

Thy feet will ache the less.”

Up spake the lady’s serving-maid

As boldly as she might:

“And it is young King Erik

That thou dost scorn and spite!”

“And is it young King Erik

That I have scorned and shent,

Methinks I ha’ done an evil deed,

And sore do I repent.

“All in the midst o’ my father’s garth

There standeth a linden green,

And many a knight and lady fair

Hold tryst beneath unseen!”

“All in the midst o’ thy father’s garth

There standeth a linden green,

And many a thief and rascal wight

Hold tryst beneath unseen!”

—Lady, great is thy favour! I thank thee right courteously.

XXV
THE MAIDEN’S MORNING DREAM

This Ballad is a special favourite throughout Scandinavia. S. Grundtvig dates it from the twelfth century, the period of the Wendish invasions, and inclines to consider it as founded on fact. But, as Olrik points out, the Wend King here rides up, not as marauder, but as fairy prince; so that the Ballad was probably composed later, and borrowed his figure—a shadow of “old, unhappy, far-off things”—from earlier ones composed during the time of Wendish warfare. My translation of verse 21 hardly does justice to the original:

“Vesselil ind at Døren tren,

da var det ret som Solen sken.”

XXV
THE MAIDEN’S MORNING DREAM

To the bower went Riseli,

(But a Frankish mile away)

And the maid awakened she.

(The Wends come up to the castle.)

With honour and praise should maidens awake,

But a whip for the waking did Riseli take.

“If thou dost lie and sleep so late,

Never a knight wilt thou win for mate!”

“Oh, better I love my morning dream

Than other maids their silken seam!

“Methought I was but a spirit light,

To the land o’ the Wends I took my flight.

“So wide my wings were spanned

They covered lea and land.

“I set me down on a linden-root,

And the branches bowed beneath my foot.”

“Now heed, O niece, what I say to thee;

Shalt give thy morning dream to me!

“Shalt give to me thy morning dream,

And I’ll give thee all my summer’s seam.”

“Oh, keep thyself thy summer’s seam!

Far dearer to me is my morning dream.”

Oh, scarcely had they done debate,

When the Wendish King rode up to the gate.

The Wendish King rode up to the door,

Riseli went and stood before.

“Welcome, noble lord of mine!

Now shall I pour thee mead or wine?”

“I will have nor mead nor wine,

But I will see Vesselil, niece o’ thine!”

“But five years old is Vesselil,

She bides with her foster-mother still.”

“And an she were but three years old,

These eyes the maiden must behold!”

“My other maids sit sewing still,

But never of sleep can she have her fill.”

Into the hall the King she led,

And forth to seek her niece she sped.

Her hair she tore, her face she struck:

“Woe worth thee, Vesselil, for thy good luck!

“Now do thou on thy garments bright,

For thou shalt see the King to-night.”

Into the hall did Vesselil fare,

And it seemed as the sun shone in with her.

“Oh, never a maiden did I behold

Was grown so well for five years old!”

He stroked her on her cheek so white,

He called her love and heart’s delight.

“I give thee my word, O Vesselil,

Shalt sleep as long as thou hast a will.”

They clad her all in silken weed,

They lifted her on the good grey steed.

They set on her head a crown of gold,

And the King he led her from the hold

—But a Frankish mile away—

The Wends come up to the castle.

XXVI
SIR KAREL’S LYKE-WAKE

This sixteenth-century Ballad has a Scots parallel in “Willie’s Wake,” and versions of the same story are found in Italy, Hungary, Bulgaria, and Galicia; but whether it travelled from south to north, or vice versa, cannot be determined. Little Kirsten’s self-betrayal in owning her love for the supposedly dead man is peculiar to the Northern form. The wistful, delicate humour, moreover, of the two concluding verses, seems to me characteristically Danish—their author, a literary ancestor of Hans Andersen.

It was young Sir Karel

His mother’s rede did pray,

If he should to the cloister ride

And bear his love away.

—The roses and the lilies all a-blowing.

“Shalt seem to die, a corse shalt lie

In shroud the bier upon,

And ne’er a one will seek to prove

If thou art living man.”

Late, so late at even

The sickness on him fell;

All in the morning early

They tolled for him the bell.

They’ve ta’en him, young Sir Karel,

And streeked him for a corse,

And all to tell the tidings

His page has taken horse.

Up and into the cloister

All with the bier they hied,

The Prior came to meet them

With mickle pomp and pride.

Forth they went, the singing-boys,

Clad all in scarlet red,

They bade the maidens come to watch:

“For young Sir Karl is dead.”

It was little Kirsten

Spake with her mother dear:

“And may I to the watching wend

Over Sir Karel’s bier?”

“Yea, do thou on thy scarlet weed,

And deck thy head with gold;

But be thou ’ware of young Sir Karl,

His wiles are manifold!”

She entered in, the little maid,

Amid the tapers’ shine,

She could not see them burning bright,

So tearful were her eyne.

Beside his head she sat her down,

And for his soul she prayed:

“Alas, thou wast my heart’s delight

In the days ere thou wast dead!”

Beside his feet she sat her down,

And smoothed the linen white:

“Oh, in the days ere thou wast dead

Thou wast my heart’s delight!”

Right softly then he up and spake:

“Now cease from tene and tear,

For lo, ’tis all for love of thee

I lie upon the bier!

“My steed stands in the cloister garth

A-tarrying all for thee;

Wilt thou now, little Kirsten,

Fare forth afar with me!”

It was young Sir Karel

Rose straightway from the dead;

And as they reached the cloister door

A gay good-night she bade.

The nuns they all sat silent,

And on their books read they,

They thought ’twas God’s good angel

That bore the maid away.

The nuns they all sat silent,

Each to herself said she:

“God grant that His good angel

May come eftsoon for me!”

—The roses and the lilies all a-blowing.

XXVII
AAGE AND ELSE

This Ballad may be compared with our own “Sweet William and May Margaret,” “Sweet William’s Ghost,” and the conclusion of “Clerk Saunders.” The same theme gave rise to Ballads in Sweden, Brittany, Germany, Spain, Italy, Greece, and the Slav countries. (The idea of a dead lover’s return to his sweetheart is one so natural that we surely need not hark back for its Danish source to the classical Lay of Helge and Sigrun.) It inspires another fine Ballad, “Sir Morten of Fuglsang,” whose Burden was borrowed by Longfellow in his poetical version of Olaf Tryggvason’s Saga (Tales of a Wayside Inn).

The line in verse 6, “No cloak had he,” refers to the custom of smiting the door with a fold of the cloak. (In “Niels Ebbeson” I have substituted “sword,” as more intelligible to the English reader.)

The metre of “Aage and Else” is an interesting variation on the usual form of the four-lined stanza.

XXVII
AAGE AND ELSE

Three maidens sat in a bower,

Two broidered with gold

The third she wept her own true love

All under darksome mould.

(For she loved the knight so truly.)

It was the Knight Sir Aage

Went riding here and there,

He loved the lady Elselil,

A maid so fair.

He wooed the lady Elselil

With gifts and gold;

On Monday thereafter

He lay in the mould.

Sore wept she, lady Elselil,

With wellaway;

That heard the knight Sir Aage

Low where he lay.

Up stood the knight Sir Aage,

His coffin took amain,

Forth to his true love’s bower he fared

With mickle pain.

He knocked there with his coffin—

No cloak had he—

“Stand up, thou stately Elselil,

Open to me!”

Up spake the lady Elselil,

With tears spake she:

“Canst thou name the name of Jesu

I’ll open to thee!”

“Stand up, thou lady Elselil,

Open thy door!

I can name the name of Jesu

As ever I could of yore.”

Up stood she, stately Elselil,

With drearihed;

There opened she her bower door,

Let in the dead.

She took her golden comb

To smooth his hair;

For every lock she ordered

Down fell a tear.

“Lithe and listen, Sir Aage,

Dearest love mine,

How goes it under darksome earth

In grave o’ thine?”

“So goes it under the darksome earth

Where I am laid

As in the happy realm of heaven;

Therefore be glad.”

“Lithe and listen, Sir Aage,

Dearest love mine.

Fain would I lie ’neath darksome mould

All in that grave o’ thine.”

“So is it under darksome mould,

There where I rest,

As in the blackest depths of hell

—Cross thou thy breast

“For every tear thou sheddest

In mournful mood,

Down into my grave doth fall

A drop of blood.

“Up above my head

The green grass grows;

Round about my feet

The wild worm goes.

“Now in the darksome entry

The black cock doth crow,

And all the gates are opening;

Forth must I go.

“Now crows upon the high-loft

The cock so red,

And I must go to the kirkyard

With all the dead.”

Up stood the knight Sir Aage,

His coffin took again,

Forth fared he to the kirkyard

With mickle pain.

Up stood she, stately Elselil,

Right mournful was her mood;

She followed him, her own true love,

Through the wild wood.

As thro’ the wood they wended

All to the kirkyard there,

Wan it grew and faded,

His goodly golden hair.

“Behold now up in heaven

The stars so bright;

So shalt thou see soothly

How goes the night.”

She saw them up in heaven,

The stars so fair;

Down in the earth the dead man sank

Ere she was ware.

Home went she, lady Elselil,

With care so cold;

On Monday thereafter

Lay she in the mould.

(For she loved the knight so truly.)

XXVIII, XXIX
LOVEL AND JOHN
TYGE HERMANDSSON

Jovial Ballads, these, of the Young Lochinvar type, where the too tardy bridegroom wins the verdict “Serve him right!” (In the former, I have made free with the name of Sir Lave, turning it into Lovel.) The svalegang plays its part in the story, since it is along this open gallery-stair that Sir John lights the bride to her bower. The Burden is handled with singular skill; the concluding line in verses 2, 3, and 4 forms no part of the dialogue, but is an aside spoken by the poet.

“Gallant knight” in “Tyge Hermandsson,” v. 21, is literally “lady’s swain” (Jomfrusvend)—squire of dames, first in love as in war.

XXVIII
LOVEL AND JOHN

Lo now, I bid you, my merry men all,

Put your armour on![3]

Bind on your helms of the burning gold,

And follow Sir John!

Sir Peter home from the Thing did fare,

(Put your armour on)

Forth came little Kirsten to meet him there,

And ask after John.

“Welcome, dear father, home from the Thing!

(Put your armour on)

Tell me what tidings hast thou to bring?”

What news of Sir John?

“These are the tidings I have for thee,

(Put your armour on)

That young Sir Lovel thy bridegroom shall be.”

And not Sir John.

“If young Sir Lovel my bridegroom shall be,

(Put your armour on)

Sorrow and care shall he have with me!”

While he lives, Sir John.

Sir Lovel to bridal-feast doth speed,

(Put your armour on)

Sir John hath bidden them shoe his steed.

“I go with him,” said John.

Sir John he rode to the blithe bridàle,

(Put your armour on)

High on his horse in his coat of mail.

“I come!” said John.

When the dew fell fast and the eve was sped,

(Put your armour on)

The bride must go to the bridal-bed.

“I go thither!” said John.

They led the bride to the bridal-bower,

(Put your armour on)

Sir John he carried the torch before.

“I first,” said John.

Sir John he locked the door aright:

(Put your armour on)

“Now bid Sir Lovel a gay good-night!”

All from Sir John.

Straight to Sir Lovel the news they cried:

(Put your armour on)

“Sir John he sleeps with thy fair young bride!”

That did Sir John.

Now when the day was dawning there

(Put your armour on)

Sir Lovel forth to the king did fare.

“I go with him!” said John.

“My gracious lord, now hark and heed!

(Put your armour on)

A plaint have I that craves for rede.”

“’Tis of me,” said John.

“A fair young bride I thought to wed,

(Put your armour on)

But another knight took the bride instead!”

“That was I,” said John.

“And if ye both hold the maid so dear,

(Put your armour on)

Now for her sake ye shall break a spear.”

“I shall win!” said John.

The first of the courses they rode so free,

(Put your armour on)

Sir Lovel’s horse fell on his knee.

“Hold up!” said John.

And when they rode to the joust again,

(Put your armour on)

Sir Lovel’s neck was broken in twain.

“Lie there!” said John.

She clapped her hands, the dainty dame:

(Put your armour on)

“Ne’er did I see so fair a game!”

Thus he won, Sir John.

—Bind on your helmets of burning gold,

And follow Sir John!

[3] Lit: Be ye well boun! (I være vel bon.)

XXIX
TYGE HERMANDSSON

All on a Saturday morning it rained both far and wide,

And it was Tyge Hermandsson that should fetch home his bride.

—I will ride forth to seek for a fair one.

The knight looked forth from the window, the burn it ran so high:

“My bride is not so dear to me that I for her should die!

“Now harken, Nilaus Bendiktsson, long-leggèd is thy steed!

Fetch home my bride for love of God, and help me in my need!”

Up spake Nilaus Bendiktsson, he spake a word so free:

“And if I fetch thee home thy bride, be sure I’ll cozen thee!”

It was Nilaus Bendiktsson that rode the bride to meet,

Silk and samite floated about his horse’s feet.

His swains were clothed in samite, with owches of gold beside;

Unto the kirk they’ve ridden, all with the fair young bride.

The bride she stood at kirkyard gate, red as a rose in bloom;

She looked out over the water: “And where is the bonny groom?”

Up spake Nilaus Bendiktsson, he spake right joyfully:

“He dared not cross the burn to-day, for the water ran so high!”

All on the bridal-bench the bride right modestly she sate,

They looked out over the water: “The bridegroom tarries late!”

They poured in cups of silver the mead and wine so red;

All in the evening early the bride must seek her bed.

They led her in, the fair young bride, all to her chamber door,

Forth went knights and pages to bear the torch before.

Oh, they laid her in the bridal-bed, and she was a dainty dame.

She tarried there three hours and more, and ne’er a bridegroom came.

The priests they stood by the bridal-bed, and sang as best they mote;

“Now who shall sleep beside our bride, since the bridegroom cometh not?”

Up stood Nilaus Bendiktsson, cast off his silver shoon:

“Now I will plight her faith and troth and sleep by her eftsoon!”

I wot their heart were merry as they pledged the bonny bride,

All save Tyge Hermandsson, dared not the water ride.

Now on the Wednesday after the flood began to fall;

Over came Tyge Hermandsson, but and his followers all.

It was Tyge Hermandsson did to the castle fare,

She stood without, the bonny bride, wrapped all in cloak of vair.

Oh, high she held her head, I wis, and spake with haughty cheer:

“Away with thee, Tyge Hermandsson, no welcome hast thou here!”

“Now lithe and listen, proud Liselil, this blame I have for thee,

Hast plighted troth with another man, so hast thou cozened me!”

“Harken, Tyge Hermandsson, this word I tell thee plain,

Never, ah, never I’ll wed the man dares not ride out in the rain!

“Now hadst thou been a gallant knight, and pledged a lady word,

Thou wouldst have braved the billows blue all with thy naked sword!”

“Oh, I will enter a cloister, and learn the monkish lore!

But know, thou haughty Liselil, thou’lt see my face no more!”

“Oh, go thy ways where’er thou wilt, let all thy prating be!

For had I bread and cheese for two, there should be none for thee!”

—I will ride forth to seek for a fair one.