He first slew four, then five he slew,
And the Dane-king himself with his warriors true.
When all the King’s men he dead had laid,
His gallant brother he home convey’d.
To Ribe the royal corse they bear,
Where it rests ’neath a tomb of marble fair.
But Sir Plog he went to a foreign shore,
No word they heard of him evermore.
THE ELVES
Take heed, good people, of yourselves;
And oh! beware ye of the elves.
Once a peasant young and gay
Was in his meadow cutting hay,
There came a lovely looking lass
From out the neighbouring morass.
The lass he woo’d, her promise won,
And soon the bridal day came on.
But when the pair had got to bed,
The bridegroom found, with fear and dread,
That he a rough oak stump embrac’d,
Instead of woman’s lovely waist.
Then, to increase his fear and wonder,
There sang a voice his window under:
“Come out to her whom thou didst wed,
Upon my mead the bed is spread.”
From that wild lay the peasant knew
He with a fay had had to do.
Take heed, good people, of yourselves;
And oh! beware ye of the elves.