So child-like out the swords they drew—
So man-like did they hack and hew.
They hewed Sir Erland all so small
As the linden leaves that flutter and fall,
Sore did the maidens weep for woe
When to shrive them they must go.
All they got for the deed of dread
Was Fridays three on water and bread!
For him who first loved me:
She dwells beneath the greenwood tree.
YOUNG DANNEVED AND BOY TRUST
What shall I do in Denmark?
My corselet sore doth gall—
The Danish knights make mock o’ me,
For I am young and small.
(Ne’er shall I speak good Danish!)
Firm he sat in the saddle;
His spurs were sharp and long.
At Lundy kirk in Skaane
There heard he even-song.
Up and spake Sir Peter,
That was his parish priest:
“Welcome to thee, young Danneved!
To-day shalt be my guest.”
“For meat I will not tarry,
Nor will I wait for wine,
Until I come to Berneskov,
To talk with mother mine.”