“Not so little, Sire, am I,
I myself full well can guard;
When I fight with kempions I
Gallantly can ply my sword.”
“Kamper dwells in Birting’s land,
For a stalwart kemp he’s known;
Thou shalt wed my daughter, if
Thou to earth canst hew him down.”
Rage and grief his bosom filled,
Grimmer through the door retires:
“What answer did my father give?”
Beauteous Ingeborg inquires.
“Kamper dwells in Birting’s land,
And he bears a warlike name;
If I him to death can smite,
I may thee with honour claim.”
Answered him the fair young maid:
“Ah! my father seeks thy death,
Kamper for thee is far too strong,
He will work thee rueful scathe.
“But I’ll lend a helm to thee,
Thou may’st trust upon in fight;
And an acton I’ll provide,
Whereupon no sword will bite.
“I’ll give thee a faulchion good,
And a harness on to put;
On earth’s ground no sword is found
Through that harness which can cut.
“I will give to thee a sword
In thy youthful hand to bear;
Thou therewith mayst iron cleave,
E’en as though it water were.”
Kamper stands on Birtingsborough,
Thence so far he sees and wide:
“What can be that little wreck
Hitherward that seems to glide?”
It was little Grimmer bold
Steered his vessel straight to land;
’Twas the bulky Kamper then
Tow’rds him stretched a friendly hand.