With his eighteen brothers Diderik stark
Dwells in the hills of Bern;
And each I wot twelve sons has got,
For manly feats they yearn.
He has twelve sisters, each of them
A dozen sons can show;
Thirteen the youngest, gallant lads,
Of fear who nothing know.
To stand before the King a crowd
Of giant bodies move;
I say to ye forsooth their heads
O’ertopped the beechen grove.
“With knights of pride we war have plied
For many, many a year;
Of Olger, who in Denmark reigns,
Such mighty things we hear.
“Men talk so fain of Olger Dane
Who dwells in Jutland’s fields;
Crowned is his head with gold so red,
No tribute us he yields.”
Then Swerting took a mace, and shook
That mace right furiously:
“From ten times ten of Olger’s men
I would not look to flee!”
“Hark, Swerting, hark, of visage dark,
Esteem them not so little;
I’d have thee ken that Olger’s men
Are knights of gallant mettle.
“They feel no fright for faulchions,
For arrows no dismay;
The desperate fight is their delight,
They deem it children’s play.”
Then cried the mighty man of Bern,
When pondered long had he:
“To Denmark we will wend, and learn
At home if Olger be.”
They took their route from Berner land,
They eighteen thousand were;
King Olger good they visit would,
And to Denmark all repair.
A messenger by Diderik sent
To Danish Olger goes:
“Say, will ye tribute pay to us,
Or with us bandy blows?”
Then full of wrath King Olger grew,
Such speech he could not bear:
“Let Diderik meet us on the wold,
We’ll battle with him there.
“Tribute to pay each Dane would scorn,
He’s wont himself to take it;
Our tribute ye will like but ill,
If ye come here to seek it.”
His kemps then gathering in a ring
The news to them he told:
“Bern’s haughty lord has sent us word
That he’ll have tribute-gold.
“He’ll either tribute have, or hold
With us a bloody feud;
But the first King he will not be
We have this year subdued.”
Then cried in scorn a kempion good,
King Diderik’s envoy to:
“To waste our home if Berners come
They all hence out won’t go.”
Soon as the news he heard, full glad
Was Ulf Van Yern, and gay;
Then laughed outright bold Hogen knight:
“Too long do they delay.”
It was Vidrik Verlandson,
High beat with joy his heart;
Then said amain Orm Ungerswayne:
“To meet them let us start.”
“The first man I’ll be in the van,”
Sir Ivor Blue he cried:
“Nor shall ye say that I was last,”
Sir Kulden Gray replied.
King Olger on the verdant wold
With Diderik battle join’d;
To fight they went, no jest they meant,
So wroth were they in mind.
Endured for three long days the fray,
And flinch would neither side;
To help his lord each Dane his sword
In desperation plied.
Down ran the blood, like raging flood
Which ’neath steep hills doth pour;
Then tribute they were forced to pay
Who tribute asked before.
Rose in the sky the blood-reek high,
And dimmed the lustrous sun;
’Twas sad to spy the brave men lie
So thick the earth upon.
In gore lay thick both men and steeds,
Dear friends were parted there;
All did not laugh the feast who sought,
Too hot they found the fare.
Now tamer grown, the Berner Jutt
Thought thus himself within:
“Of us a hundred scarce remain,
We cannot hope to win.”
Then took he to his heels and ran,
Not often back looked he;
To say good night forgot Swerting quite,
For Bern, for Bern they flee.
Then Diderik turned him with a shout
That shook the vaulted skies:
“Bern, Bern’s the place for us, I guess,
For here no refuge lies!”
Then answered ’neath the green hill’s side
The son of Verland keen:
“Ye and your host will little boast
Ye have in Denmark been.”
Full eighteen thousand knights were they
When out they marched from Bern;
Wounded and worn but seventy-five
With drooping crests, return.