St. Oluf built a lofty ship,
With sails of silk so fair;
“To Hornelummer I must go,
And see what’s passing there.”
“O do not go,” the seamen said,
“To yonder fatal ground,
Where savage Jutts, [5] and wicked elves,
And demon sprites, abound.”
St. Oluf climb’d the vessel’s side;
His courage nought could tame!
“Heave up, heave up the anchor straight;
Let’s go in Jesu’s name.
“The cross shall be my faulchion now—
The book of God my shield;
And, arm’d with them, I hope and trust
To make the demons yield.”
And swift, as eagle cleaves the sky,
The gallant vessel flew;
Direct for Hornelummer’s rock,
Through ocean’s wavy blue.
’T was early in the morning tide
When she cast anchor there;
And, lo! the Jutt stood on the cliff,
To breathe the morning air:
His eyes were like the burning beal—
His mouth was all awry;
The truth I tell, and say he stood
Full twenty cubits high:
His beard was like a horse’s mane,
And down his bosom roll’d;
The claws that fenc’d his finger ends
Were frightful to behold.
“I never yet have seen,” he cried,
“A ship come near my strand,
That here to shore I could not drag,
By putting out my hand.”
The good St. Oluf smil’d thereat,
And thus address’d his crew:
“Now hold your tongues, and well observe
What I’m about to do.”