To the holy Kirk they carried him,
They christened him at night;
They called him little Engel, and
Concealed him whilst they might.
They fostered him for winter one,
And so on, till he grew
The fairest knight beneath the sun
That you did ever view.
So well he grew and throve until
Seven years had passed away:
“Thy uncle slew thy sire, my boy,
For the first time, that I say.”
Still with his mother he remained
Till five more years were sped:
“Thy uncle slew thy father, boy,”
He heard most often said.
“Now do thou hear, my mother dear,
Who sittest clad in pall;
Up under Oe I’ll riding go,
And serve in the Monarch’s hall.”
“Yes, ride thee hence to Court, and there
To win thee honor try;
Forget not who thy father slew,
For the last time I cry.”
He served so long at court that he
His friend the Dane King made;
With heavy heart he’d sit apart
Whilst others laugh’d and play’d.
The Danish King observed at last
He grieved at seasons all:
“Now hear, good youth, I’d know forsooth
Why thou art sorrow’s thrall.
“Thou grievest like the little bird
The greenwood bough upon;
Thou seemest like the lonely wight
Whose friends are dead and gone.”
“Now do thou hear, thou King of the Danes,
With grief I down am weigh’d;
My uncle slew my sire of old,
And no atonement made.”