None but I thy father slew!”
13
Sir Peter smote himself on the breast:
“Heart, bide still, nor break thy rest!
14
“Heart, lie still, bide patiently:
Sure and swift shall my vengeance be.”
15
In the garth Sir Peter stayed
To speak with his good blade:
16
“Harken, sword so good!
Wilt drink thy fill of blood?
17
“Good brown brand, wilt fight for me?
No brother have I on earth but thee.”
18
“Oh, say, how can I fight for thee?
My hilt lies broken in pieces three.”
19
To the smith his way he wended
That the hurt might be amended.
20
He gave him iron, he gave him steel
Of proof and price, the hurt to heal.
21
“Good brown brand, wilt fight for me?
No brother have I on earth but thee.”
22
“Be only in thy blows so stern
As I’ll be swift in point to turn!
23
“Be only in thy blows so stout
As I in hilt will bear thee out!”
24
Sir Peter sought the hall
Where the knights were drinking all.
25
To prove his sword he was so fain
That seven champions straight lay slain;
26
Up and down he swung his blade,
Neither matron he spared nor maid;
27
Behind the arras there he thrust,
The King and his sons they bit the dust.
28
Up spake the babe, in cradle lay:
“A red revenge dost thou wreak to-day!
29
“A red revenge for that sire o’ thine—
GOD give me a day for avenging mine!”
30
“And have I avenged that sire o’ mine,
Shalt see no day for avenging thine!”
31
He seized the babe amain,
And struck it straight in twain.
32
“Cease, brown brand, thy thirst to slake!
Bide thou still for our Saviour’s sake!”
33
Wearily whispered the sword and still:
“Fain o’ thy blood I’d have my fill!
34
“Hadst thou not named my name, I vow
I would have slain thee, here and now!”
35
He sought the smith again,
Bade forge an iron chain.
36
He bound in chains both foot and hand,
For now would he leave for aye the land.
37
But when o’er the grave of the King he passed
The chains of iron were riven and brast.
—Forward, hurrah! ride forward.
XVII
THE ELFIN SHAFT
“After the old gods had vanished,” says Olrik, “and before the Christian
God was personally apprehended, arose the rich poetry which deals with
Nature-Spirits.”
They always appear in the older Ballads under a grim and treacherous
aspect; the Nixies, for instance, are such as we find in the “Ballad of
Annan Water.”
“The bonnie grey mare did sweat with fear,
For she heard the water-kelpie roaring.”
This fear, natural to a human-kind as yet not master of the elements, was
intensified by the teaching of the Church. In the Eddic mythology the
Dwarfs had their own recognized place, whereas their semi-descendants,
the Fairies or Nature-Spirits, not being Angels, were regarded as Devils
by priestly eyes. Only in later Ballads, such as “Agnes and the Merman,”
and “The Mermaid’s Soothsaying,” do we find any hint of compassion for
the soulless fay.
The theme of this Ballad—the fairy’s fatal love for a mortal—originated
in Northern France, whence it crept into the folk-lore of Europe in
general. (Gervase of Tilbury has a warning word to young men on the
dangers of elfin flirtations; and the Rev. — Kirk in his _Secret
Commonwealth_ (1691) points out their “inconvenience.”) The peasant of
Annam, too, knows the “_con-tinh_,” the wild-haired feminine Genii who
dance on a starless night, and lure mortal youths to their undoing.
To the Elfin Shaft or Elfin Bolt was attributed sudden death or seizure
of pain, either in man or beast, among the Scandinavians.
The Icelandic form of the Ballad heightens the horror by the addition of
those fiery portents associated with burial-houses containing treasure,
guarded by fairies or by the dead. The “false fairy” stabs Sir Oluf with
a sword, which, under cover of her cloak, she takes from her “treasure
chest of gold.”
“Sign ye your brows with the holy cross,
(They will woo him to undo him)
Sancta Maria, watch over us!
(See the red flames leaping high!
Blithe lay the bower beneath the fells,
Blithe lay the bower the fells hard by.)”
XVII
THE ELFIN SHAFT
1
Sir Oluf hath ridden west and east
To bid his friends to his bridal feast.
—Gay goes the dance by the greenwood tree.
2
By the howe he took his way,
And there danced elf and fay.
3
There they danced in blithesome band;
The Elf-king’s daughter reached forth her hand.
4
The Elf-king’s daughter her hand stretched she:
“And will Sir Oluf tread a measure with me?”
5
“I may not, I dare not, the measure tread!
To-morrow morn shall I be wed.”
6
“Oh, tread now a measure, Sir Oluf, with me!
Two buckskin boots will I give to thee,
7
“Boots well beseeming a knight so bold,
With spurs thereto of red, red gold.
8
“Oh, tread now a measure, Sir Oluf, with me!
A silken kirtle I’ll give to thee,
9
“A silken kirtle so fair and fine
That my mother bleached in the pale moonshine.”
10
“I may not, I dare not, the measure tread!
To-morrow morn shall I be wed.”
11
“Oh, tread now a measure, Sir Oluf, with me!
An orb of gold I will give to thee.”
12
“An orb of gold I fain would win,
But I may not dance with the fairy kin.”
13
“And if thou wilt not dance with me,
Scathe and sickness shall follow thee!”
14
She struck Sir Oluf under his heart,
Deep in its roots he felt the smart.
15
She lifted him up on his horse of pride:
“Go home, go home, and seek thy bride!”
16
Oh, he rode up to his castle door,
And it was his mother that stood before.
17
“Lithe now and listen, Sir Oluf my son,
Why is thy cheek so white and wan?”
18
“Well may my cheek be wan and white,
I have seen the elf-maids’ sport to-night!”
19
“Lithe now and listen, dear son of mine,
What shall I say to that bride of thine?”
20
“Shalt say I am in the mead
A-proving hound and steed.”
21
All on the morrow ere dawn was grey
The bride rode in with glad array
22
They poured the mead and they poured the wine:
“Now where is Sir Oluf, dear bridegroom mine?”
23
“Sir Oluf is in the mead
A-proving hound and steed.”
24
“Oh, doth he love hound and horse of pride
Better than he loves his bride?”
25
She sought him alow, she sought him aloft,
She found Sir Oluf sleeping soft.
26
She lifted the cloak of scarlet red,
There lay Sir Oluf, was cold and dead.
27
She kissed him in the bridal-bower,
She died herself the self-same hour.
28
All so early, ere dawn was red,
Were three in Sir Oluf’s hold lay dead.
29
Sir Oluf lay dead, and his bride also;
The third was his mother, that died for woe.
—The dance goes gay by the greenwood tree.
XVIII, XIX
THE KNAVISH MERMAN
AGNES AND THE MERMAN
That the first of these Ballads is the more ancient appears probable
through its conception of the Merman—the grim troll with his
shape-changing and his glamour, fit image of the inexorable sea. The
fine imaginative touch of the holy images averting their heads must have
been borrowed from this by the later Ballad. Versions exist in Swedish,
Norwegian, Faroëse, Icelandic, and English (“Clerk Colvill and the
Mermaid”).
The “Agnes” Ballad must, I take it, have been known to Matthew Arnold,
who enriched its simple folk-melody with the elaborate orchestration of
his “Forsaken Merman.” But, for dramatic power and genuine feeling, the
honours remain with the more primitive bard.
It dates from the late mediæval period when creative power was on the
wane, and is an adaptation of the German “Schöne Agnete”—which, in its
turn, has a Slav original. The German Ballad, however, takes the more
primitive view of the Merman, who ends by destroying his mortal mistress.
Later Danish minstrels—Sven Grundtvig among them—have altered the
conclusion accordingly.
XVIII
THE KNAVISH MERMAN
1
Gay goes the dance in the kirkyard there,
—Welladay—
They dance, the knights, with blades so bare,
—Methinks ’tis hard to ride away.
2
They dance, the maidens, with hair unbound;
It was the King’s daughter sang the round.
3
Proud was the Princess, sweet was her song;
That heard the Merman, the waves among.
4
Up rose the Merman, thus spake he:
“Perchance the King’s daughter will wed with me!”
5
Garments he shaped and a golden ring,
He called him Sir Alfast, son of a King.
6
He shaped him a steed so black and bold,
He rode like a knight in a saddle of gold.
7
He tied his steed where the shade was mirk,
Withershins went he round the kirk.
8
Into the kirk the Merman hied,
And all the holy images they turned their heads aside
9
Up spake the priest by the altar that stood:
“Who may he be, this knight so good?”
10
The Princess smiled, her cloak behind:
“Now would to GOD the knight were mine!”
11
“Listen, proud Princess, and love thou me!
A crown of gold I’ll give to thee.”
12
“Over three kingdoms my father was King,
But ne’er did he give me so fair a thing.”
13
He wrapped her in his cloak of blue,
Forth from the kirk they fared, they two.
14
They met all on the wold
The steed with saddle of gold.
15
As they rode o’er the lea
He became a troll, so foul to see.
16
When they rode down to the water’s brim
He became a troll, so fierce and grim.
17
“Sir Alfast, thou art christened man,
What wilt thou with this water wan?”
18
“No knight am I, nor christened man,
My dwelling is in this water wan!”
19
And when they reached the midmost Sound
Fifty fathom they sank to ground.
20
Long heard the fishers with dread and dree
How the King’s daughter sobbed under the sea!
—Welladay!
Methinks ’tis hard to ride away.
XIX
AGNES AND THE MERMAN
1
Agnes she walked on the edge of the steep,
And up came a Merman out from the deep.
—Ha ha ha!
Up came a Merman out from the deep.
2
“Lithe now and listen, Agnes, to me,
And say if thou wilt my true-love be?”
3
“Yes, good sooth, that will I be
Wilt thou bear me down to the depths o’ the sea.”
4
Oh, he has stopped her ears and stopped her mouth beside,
And borne her down all under the tide.
5
There she dwelt eight years and more,
Seven sons she to the Merman bore.
6
Agnes she sat by the cradle and sang,
And she heard how the bells of England rang.
7
She to the Merman did speak and say:
“May I go up in the kirk to pray?”
8
“Thou hast my leave to go withal,
But see thou come back to thy children small.
9
“When to the kirkyard thou dost fare,
Then see thou let not down thy shining golden hair.
10
“And when thou enterest in the door
Then sit by thy mother’s side no more.
11
“When the priest names the Name of dread,
Then bow not down thy head.”
12
Oh, he has stopped her ears and stopped her mouth amain,
And so he bore her up to England’s shores again.
13
When thro’ the kirkyard she did fare,
Oh then did she let down her shining golden hair.
14
And when she entered in the door
She sat by her mother, as of yore.
15
When the priest named the Name of dread,
Then she bowed down her head.
16
“Agnes, my daughter, I ask of thee,
Where hast thou been eight years away from me?”
17
“I dwelt in the sea eight years and more,
Seven sons I to the Merman bore.”
18
“Now tell me, daughter, and fear no blame,
What did he give for thy maiden fame?”
19
“He gave me a ring of golden sheen,
Never a better one hath the Queen.
20
“Of golden shoon he gave me a pair,
Never a better the Queen might wear.
21
“He gave me a harp of gold to play
That I might touch its strings and wile my cares away.”
22
The Merman he made him a path so strait
Up from the strand to the kirkyard gate.
23
Into the kirk the Merman hied,
And all the holy images they turned their heads aside.
24
Like the purest gold was his shining hair,
His eyes were full of sorrow and care.
25
“Lithe now and listen, Agnes, to me;
All thy little children are longing after thee!”
26
“Let them long as they will, let their longing be sore,
I shall return to them nevermore!”
27
“Oh, think of the big ones and think of the small!
Of the baby in the cradle think thou most of all.”
28
“I think not of the big ones, I think not of the small,
Of the baby in the cradle I’ll think least of all!”
—Ha ha ha!
Of the baby in the cradle I’ll think least of all.
XX
THE ENCHANTED MAIDEN
The story told by this Ballad takes us into no very remote region of
Faërie; wicked stepdame, enchanted maid, and knightly deliverer are
all familiar personages. The belief in human blood as means whereby
the bewitched mortal is delivered from the beast-likeness is found in
the folk-lore of many nations, and may be a dim memory of sacrificial
cannibal feasts. But the beautiful Introductory Stanzas are noteworthy;
for such detailed descriptions of Nature occur but rarely in Ballads,
Danish or other. This one recalls the famous opening of one among the
Ballads of Robin Hood:
“In summer when the shawes be sheen,
And leves be large and long,
It is full merrie in fair forest
To hear the foulës’ song,
“To see the deere draw to the dale,
And leave the hillës hie,
And shelter them in the levës greene,
Under the greenwood tree.”
A verse of another Danish Ballad might have been spoken by Little John,
who bids his “dere master” pluck up heart, “and think this is a merrie
time, all in a morning of May”:
“Os fry der Aarsens Tid og Tag
det Maj i Morgen er;
den kommer os alle til Behag
alt baade fjern og nær.”
XX
THE ENCHANTED MAIDEN
Oh, well I wot where the greenwood grows
That standeth beside the firth,
And in it there grow the fairest trees
That a man may see on earth!
Therein the willow and linden grow,
The fairest a man may find,
And under them play the lordly beasts
That men call hart and hind.
There they play, both hind and hart,
And the beasts of the fair forest,
And there she plays, the lily-white hind,
With gold beneath her breast.
1
It was Nilus Erlandsson
Rode forth the deer to take;
There he saw the lily-white hind
That ran thro’ bush and brake.
—So the knight hath won his lady.
2
After went Nilus Erlandsson
That longed for her so sore;
But never might he reach the hind
For three days’ space and more.
3
Snares he set on every path
Where’er the hind might go,
But all so cunning was she
He might not take her so.
4
Sir Nilus thro’ the greenwood
Rode after her in vain;
His hounds he loosed by two, by three,
To run her down amain.
5
So hot the hounds went on her trail
That never might she ’scape;
She changed her all by grammarye
And fled in a falcon’s shape.
6
She shaped her as a falcon fleet,
And perched in the linden green;
Under the tree Sir Nilus stood
And sighed for toil and tene.
7
Sir Nilus took an axe in hand
To fell the linden-tree,
When out there sprang a yeoman fierce
That smote the shaft in three.
8
“And wilt thou fell my father’s wood
And all by wrongful power,
I swear to thee, Nilus Erlandsson,
Thou shalt abye it sore!”
9
“Now let me fell this single tree,
This tree alone of thine,
For, but I take the falcon fair,
I die of dule and pine!”
10
“Now lithe and listen, thou fair young knight,
To the counsel that I bring;
Ne’er shalt thou take her until she taste
The flesh of a tamèd thing!”
11
A gobbet he hewed from out his breast,
(And that was mickle pain!)
She spread her wings and down she flew
And fell on the bait amain.
12
She spread her wings and down she flew
And on the bait she fell;
She changed her shape to the fairest maid
That ever tongue might tell.
13
She stood in a sark of silk so red
Where the linden-tree did blow;
The knight he took her in his arms,
And there she wept her woe.
14
“Oh, I sat and broidered lily and rose,
I guided my father’s gear,
When in she came, my false stepdame,
That never held me dear.
15
“She shaped me all as a lily-white hind
To run in fair greenwood,
And my seven maidens as seven wolves,
And bade them have my blood.”
16
The maid stood under the linden-tree,
And loosed her golden hair,
And thither they came that erst were wolves,
Her seven maidens fair.
17
“Now thanks to thee, Nilus Erlandsson,
Hast loosed me from sore alarms!
Never shalt thou seek slumber
But in my lily-white arms.
18
“Now thanks to thee, Nilus Erlandsson,
Hast saved me from pain and pest!
Never shalt thou seek slumber
But on my lily-white breast.”
—So the knight hath won his lady.
MISCELLANEOUS BALLADS
XXI, XXII
TORBEN’S DAUGHTER
THE MAIDEN AT THE THING
“Torben’s Daughter” is a fine example of compressed, dramatic
narration—we are not even told the names of hero and heroine. It is
interesting also as depicting the simplicity of antique manners, when
a knight might be found holding the plough. The maiden who pledges her
father’s slayer, behaves, though in all innocence, as does the false wife
of the Baron of Brackley:
“The lady she feasted them, carried them ben,
She laughed wi’ the men that her baron had slain.”
The second Ballad is that which, greatly daring, sings the praises of
simple worth—thus expressing a tendency doomed by the spirit of later
times. Unlike the reprover of Clara Vere de Vere, the minstrel adorns
his theme with a dry humour, that spares neither hero nor heroine—dowdy
country maid and dandified lordling. That is an excellent touch (verse
3) which shows the former’s resentment of the pert page’s remarks on her
garments; so is her artful reference to the excellent appetite which will
reward her future lord’s agricultural exertions—the ancient wisdom of
“Feed the brute!” The Ballad craves a sequel, to be entitled “The Husband
turned Husbandman.”
XXI
TORBEN’S DAUGHTER
Oh, we were many sisters small,
—On the lea—
So early did our father fall.
—The day it is dawning, and the dew it is falling so free.
1
All on a Sunday evening they scoured both spear and sword,
All on a Monday morning wrathful they rode abroad.
2
When they went by the northern shaw
Sir Torben ploughing his land they saw.
3
“There standst thou, Sir Torben, so fair and fine!
Now pay me blood-money for kinsman mine.”
4
“I will give thee farm and stead,
I will give thee my daughter, so fair a maid.”
5
“We come not hither for house nor land,
We come for the blood of thy red right hand!”
6
They hewed Sir Torben to pieces small
As the leaves that under the linden fall.
7
They’re ridden up to Sir Torben’s stead,
And there stood his daughter, so fair a maid.
8
She stood, as slim as a willow-wand,
With a goblet of gold in either hand.
9
She poured the wine with sport and play,
She pledged the man who her sire did slay.
10
“Now had I guessed thee so mild of mood,
I ne’er had spilt thy father’s blood!”
11
“And if thou hast my father slain,
Then I must dree right bitter pain.”
12
“And have I done ill to thee thereby
Thou shalt fare hereafter as well as I.”
13
He set her up on his steed so true,
He wrapped her in his cloak of blue.
14
They rode away o’er the darksome heather,
—On the lea—
Never more did she see her father.
—The day it is dawning, and the dew it is falling so free.
XXII
THE MAIDEN AT THE THING
1
Young was Inge the maid,
—In the green grove—
Yet she rode to the Thing unafraid.
—To ride to the maiden’s bower.
2
Up and spake to his knights the King:
“I spy a maiden that rides to the Thing!”
3
The little foot-page he answered then:
“Oh, she comes here a-riding to gaze upon the men!
4
“But see her kirtle’s old-fashioned shape,
And only look on her ill-cut cape!”
5
For all the maiden was so meek
She heard each word the page did speak.
6
“And if my heart had felt no tene,
I had been better at home, I ween!
7
“And did I not know mine errand well,
I had been better at home to dwell!
8
“But my kirtle hath no ill-favoured shape,
And after the mode is cut my cape.
9
“Thou King o’ Danes, now hark and hear;
A plaint have I for thy gracious ear.
10
“I was but a little child
Whenas I lost my mother mild.
11
“My father set me on his knee,
And divided with me both gold and fee.
12
“But he died or ever two years were done;
O’er house and lands I must rule alone.
13
“But in there came my uncles three,
All my goods they waste from me.
14
“The mown they mar, the sown they spoil,
Both man and maid they lure from toil.
15
“Oxen and kine they drive abroad,
They wile my serving-men from my board.
16
“Ere I’ll live longer without relief
I’ll give thee my father’s lands in fief!”
17
“Now thanks to thee for thy gift, O maid!
Say, which of my knights thou fain wouldst wed?”
18
“And may I speak as my choice is made,
’Tis Sir Ove Stison I fain would wed.”
19
“Stand up, Sir Ove, and answer free;
Here is a maiden will marry thee!”
20
Up stood Sir Ove, and answered so free:
“Fair maiden, nought shalt thou win from me!
21
“Better can I tie a silken band
Than play the farmer on lea and land.
22
“Better can I ride with hawk and hound
Than drive the plough through the heavy ground!”
23
“Oh, sit in my chariot all by me,
So good a farmer I’ll make of thee!
24
“Take plough in hand, lay the furrow featly,
Take corn in hand, and scatter it meetly.
25
“And let the harrow after go,
Thou’lt make a goodly farmer so;
26
“And of thy meat thou’lt be so fain
That men will call thee a right true Dane!”
27
To laugh and be merry men were not loth
When Sir Ove plighted the maid his troth.
28
All alone to the Thing she hied,
The King he led her home again, and all his swains beside.
—In the green grove,
To ride to the maiden’s bower.
XXIII, XXIV
THE GAME OF DICE
KING ERIK AND THE SCORNFUL MAID
These two Ballads deal, from different stand-points, with the change of
manners that came in towards the close of the Middle Ages. A barrier
grew up between bower and hall; the Squire became the serving man, whose
menial labours were no longer shared by his master. There were those,
doubtless, who regretted the good old times; and the “King Erik” Ballad
expresses their sentiments.
“The Game of Dice,” with its more conventional ending, is concerned
for gentility. Its Danish version dates from the twelfth or thirteenth
century. Other forms exist in Norwegian and Icelandic, and in a Swedish
broadsheet of the later eighteenth century. There is also a Slav version.
XXIII
THE GAME OF DICE
1
“Harken here, thou good young swain,
And play at dice with me!”
“Oh, ne’er have I the ruddy gold
To wager here with thee.”
—Because they played, and threw the dice of gold.
2
“Oh, wager now thy goodly hat,
Altho’ it be of grey,
And I will wager my snood of pearl,
Shalt take it, an thou may!”
3
When first the dice of gold
Upon the board did run,
The youth he lost his wager,
And glad the maiden won.
4
“Harken here, thou good young swain,
And cast the dice with me!”
“Oh, ne’er have I the ruddy gold
To wager here with thee.”
5
“Now wager thou thy kirtle,
Altho’ it be of grey,
And I will wager my golden crown,
Shalt take it, an thou may!”
6
When next the dice of gold
Upon the board did run,
The youth he lost his wager,
And glad the maiden won.
7
“Harken here, thou good young swain,
And play at dice with me!”
“Oh, ne’er have I the ruddy gold
To wager here with thee.”
8
“Thy hosen shalt thou wager,
And shoon shalt wager both;
I’ll set thereto my honour,
But and my plighted troth.”
9
And when the dice of gold
Upon the board were cast,
The youth he won the wager,
And sad the maiden lost.
10
“Harken here, young jackanapes,
And get thee gone from me!
My knife adorned with silver
That will I give to thee.”
11
“Thy knife adorned with silver
I’ll take it when I may;
But I will have the maiden
I won with dice at play!”
12
“Harken here, young jackanapes,
And get thee gone from me!
Seven silk-sewn kirtles
All will I give to thee.”
13
“Thy seven silk-sewn kirtles
I’ll take whenas I may;
But I will have the maiden
I won with dice at play!”
14
“Harken here, young jackanapes,
And get thee gone from me!
A white steed and saddle
Those will I give to thee.”
15
“White steed and saddle
I’ll take whene’er I may;
But I will have the maiden
I won with dice at play!”
16
“Harken here, young jackanapes,
And get thee gone from me!
My hold and my castle
Those will I give to thee.”
17
“Thy hold and thy castle
I’ll take them when I may;
But I will have the maiden
I won with dice at play!”
18
The maiden sought her bower,
And there her locks arrayed:
“Now for the match that I must make
GOD help me, luckless maid!”
19
All with his sword a-playing
The youth he up and spake:
“Oh, better far than thy deserts
The match that thou shalt make!
20
“For I am ne’er a jackanapes,
Altho’ it be thy word;
I am the noblest son of kings
That ever walked abroad!”
21
“Art thou the noblest son of kings
That ever walked abroad,
Then shalt thou have mine honour,
But and my plighted word!”
—Because they played, and threw the dice of gold.
XXIV
KING ERIK AND THE SCORNFUL MAID
1
All so rich a damsel
Dwells southward in our land,
And ne’er to dance with a poor young swain
Will she stretch forth her hand.
—Damsel, great is thy favour! I thank thee right courteously.
2
Ne’er to dance with a poor young swain
Will she hold forth her hand;
She’s tied up her sleeves with ribbons of silk
And many a golden band.
3
It was young King Erik
Bade saddle his steed so free:
“Forth will we fare to the southland
And visit this proud ladye!”
4
It was young King Erik
That forth to dance did stand;
He’s taken that dainty damsel
All by her lily hand.
5
“Now nay, I will not dance with thee!
Too hard are thy hands indeed;
Thou hast been hewing of hedges
Or spreading of muck on the mead!”
6