“When thou didst leave the land, I was
The honour’d Dame of a simple knight;
Now am I Queen in Denmark green,
With a stain that makes me hate the light.
“The time that thou from the land didst go,
I was but the wife of a Noble brave;
Now am I Queen in Denmark green,
Longing to hide me in the grave.”
It was then the young Marsk Stig
He grasp’d amain his dagger knife:
“If truth it be that thou tellest me,
’Twill cost the traitor King his life.
“Never will I sweet sleep enjoy,
Lock’d in thy snowy arms, my fair,
Till ruin I bring on the traitor King
Who laid for us this deadly snare.
“And never, never, O Ingeborg,
By thy snowy side again I’ll lie,
Till I out-pour the reeking gore
Of him who has wrought this injury.”
Long, long stood the bold Marsk Stig,
Musing with look so stern and grave:
“If on the King I’d avenge this thing,
Notice from me he must quickly have.”
Marsk Stig he arms his courtiers good,
Arms them in hauberks glittering,
And he rides on the morrow to Skanderborough
To summon King Erik to the Ting.
It was the Danish Queen so fine
From the window high a glance she cast:
“Across the wold comes Marsk Stig bold,
Why rides the Marshal Stig so fast?
“And yonder prances the Marshal Stig,
And hither from Sonderbrook rides he;
Each plumy swain in his galloping train
Is like a bonny grey dow to see.”
It was the young and bold Marsk Stig,
So stately stepped the threshold o’er;
The Danish Queen so sharp and keen
She straight began to scoff him sore.