With his eighteen brothers Diderik stark
Dwells in the hills of Bern;
And each I wot twelve sons has got,
For manly feats they yearn.
He has twelve sisters, each of them
A dozen sons can show;
Thirteen the youngest, gallant lads,
Of fear who nothing know.
To stand before the King a crowd
Of giant bodies move;
I say to ye forsooth their heads
O’ertopped the beechen grove.
“With knights of pride we war have plied
For many, many a year;
Of Olger, who in Denmark reigns,
Such mighty things we hear.
“Men talk so fain of Olger Dane
Who dwells in Jutland’s fields;
Crowned is his head with gold so red,
No tribute us he yields.”
Then Swerting took a mace, and shook
That mace right furiously:
“From ten times ten of Olger’s men
I would not look to flee!”
“Hark, Swerting, hark, of visage dark,
Esteem them not so little;
I’d have thee ken that Olger’s men
Are knights of gallant mettle.
“They feel no fright for faulchions,
For arrows no dismay;
The desperate fight is their delight,
They deem it children’s play.”
Then cried the mighty man of Bern,
When pondered long had he:
“To Denmark we will wend, and learn
At home if Olger be.”
They took their route from Berner land,
They eighteen thousand were;
King Olger good they visit would,
And to Denmark all repair.