“I have full eighteen mortal wounds,
And each so deadly sore;
If I had only one of them
I could not live an hour.”
It was Alf of Odderskier,
An oak by the root uptore;
It was the young Helmer Kamp
Whom dead he laid in gore.
Now lie the valiant kempions two,
Within a single grave;
And the King to his daughter cannot give
The swain whom she will have.
Sore sorrows Alf of Odderskier,
His valiant children slain.
Whilst Upsal’s King may still at home
His daughter fair retain.
London:
Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.
Edition limited to Thirty Copies.
Footnote:
[7] A title of dignity, equivalent to that of Count.