“They stabbed him with might in his bosom white,
Their points came out of his royal side;
Take thou good care of the youthful heir,
Who Denmark’s realm is doomed to guide.
“Take heed, take heed of the land I rede,
And of this royal Castelaye;
’Bove every thing of the youthful King,
Who in after time shall Denmark sway.”
“Thou little lad thy tale is sad,
And it fills my heart with grief and pain;
But thee I’ll prize for thy advice,
And clothe and feed thee whilst I reign.”
It happ’d on the night of Cecily bright,
In that sweet season blest and holy,
Vengeance has sped, the King is dead—
But Ingeborg still is melancholy.
PART IV.
There were seven and seven times twenty
That met upon the verdant wold:
“Say, what emprise shall we devise
Now Denmark’s Lord is stark and cold?
“Our Lord we’ve slain, a corse he lies,
The band of peace we thus have riven;
Within the land we can make no stand,
From land and friends we now are driven.
“But we will ride to Skanderborg,
And a visit to the Queen will pay,
We’ll see how fares amid her cares
The Dame ere we depart for aye.
“It was her wont to jeer and scoff,
But now therewith she must have done;
The fire is come to the scorner’s home,
And pity her I ween can none.”
Marsk Stig he into the saddle sprang,
For his daring deed he felt no sorrow;
He spurr’d his horse and bent his course,
With his armed host to Skanderborough.