In walked he, the good Dane King,
Glittering like the morning star:
“Which of ye, my Danish swains,
Will attend my friend to war?”
Stalked the King along the floor,
Bore a gold cup in his hand:
“Which of ye, my courtmen, will,
Follow Wolf with shield and brand?”
To their mouths their hats they held,
None to answer him made haste,
Save bold Vidrik Verlandson,
Of them all he made a jest.
It was Vidrik Verlandson
Of his comrades made a sport:
“Sure ’tis but to guzzle mead
We are gathered here at court.”
Wrathful Diderik straight became,
Frantic at that word he grew;
Off he smote two warriors’ heads,
At the King’s foot them he threw.
Then spake Vidrik Verlandson,
His whole thought on honor lies:
“We’ll dispatch our messenger
And not go in stealthy guise.”
It was youthful Hammergray
Hurried from the city gate;
Every one on him that looked
Lost his voice and colour straight.
Hark away, young Hammergray,
Gold is glittering on thy breast;
Ne’er was found or hawk or hound
Could with Hammer’s speed contest.
Pearls upon his bosom shone,
Folks thereat astounded gaze:
Fowl was none beneath the sun
Could with youthful Hammer race.
Swift into the King’s high hill
Bounded youthful Hammergray:
He was nimble at the tongue,
And could speak in gallant way.