THE DROWNING OF JOHN REMORSSON
The good ship lies on the lee-land,
And under her grows the grass,
Oh never so rash a steersman
As Sir John Remorsson was!
(For the sea she taketh so many.)
The King sits up in Ribe
And a letter writeth he;
He bids his gallant captains
Make ready for the sea.
It was Sir John Remorsson
Put on his armour bright—
“The man is faithless to his king
That will not sail to-night!”
It was Sir John Remorsson
That girt him with his sword—
“The man who will not sail to-day
Is faithless to his lord!
“To-night will we make merry
And drink the foaming ale,
And if the favouring weather hold,
To-morrow we’ll set sail.”
It was the skipper Hogen
Looked to the sky amain—
“He that will sail the sea to-day
Will ne’er come home again!”
It was Sir John Remorsson
To the haven cried aloud—
“Up with your sails, ye Danish men,
In the great name of God!”
They had not sailed from land a league—
The waves they ran so high—
All sad sat skipper Hogen
With the salt tear in his eye.
They had not sailed from land a league—
The waves they ran so deep—
All sad sat skipper Hogen,
And sorely did he weep.