Endured for three long days the fray,
And flinch would neither side;
To help his lord each Dane his sword
In desperation plied.
Down ran the blood, like raging flood
Which ’neath steep hills doth pour;
Then tribute they were forced to pay
Who tribute asked before.
Rose in the sky the blood-reek high,
And dimmed the lustrous sun;
’Twas sad to spy the brave men lie
So thick the earth upon.
In gore lay thick both men and steeds,
Dear friends were parted there;
All did not laugh the feast who sought,
Too hot they found the fare.
Now tamer grown, the Berner Jutt
Thought thus himself within:
“Of us a hundred scarce remain,
We cannot hope to win.”
Then took he to his heels and ran,
Not often back looked he;
To say good night forgot Swerting quite,
For Bern, for Bern they flee.
Then Diderik turned him with a shout
That shook the vaulted skies:
“Bern, Bern’s the place for us, I guess,
For here no refuge lies!”
Then answered ’neath the green hill’s side
The son of Verland keen:
“Ye and your host will little boast
Ye have in Denmark been.”
Full eighteen thousand knights were they
When out they marched from Bern;
Wounded and worn but seventy-five
With drooping crests, return.