It was Sir Niels Ebbesen,
To the bridge of Randers came:
“He who’s loath to follow me
Straightway his discharge may claim.”
Forward stepped the tiny Frost,
Thought the truest of the true:
“Give me my dismissal, Sir,
Give me horse and saddle too.”
So he sought and got discharge,
Saddle got and steed withall;
But he served his master best
That same day ere evening fall.
To the Count’s door rode Sir Niels,
Ne’er from that withdrew his look;
Thrice thereon with iron lance
Heavily the hero strook.
“Rise up from thy sleep, my lord!
Let me in right speedily;
Thy dear brother, Henrik Count,
Has dispatched me unto thee.”
“By my brother if thou’rt sent,
Rest thee from thy journey long;
Me to-morrow in the Kirk
Meet ’twixt mass and matin song.”
“Let your page but at the door
Take from me the entrusted scroll;
Ribe hard invested is,
Colding town is burnt to coal.
“Ribe hard invested is,
Colding’s burnt, and Vedel’s flung
Open to our troops its gate,
And Niels Ebbesen is hung.”
“If what thou hast told be truth,
News it is to make one gay;
Thou shalt in respect be held
Herald till thy dying day.
“Page! no more keep fast the door,
Let me on the herald gaze;
For that we the land have won
Is the sum of what he says.”