Chapter 6 of 7 · 3992 words · ~20 min read

Part 6

When the priest named the Name of dread, Then she bowed down her head.

“Agnes, my daughter, I ask of thee, Where hast thou been eight years away from me?”

“I dwelt in the sea eight years and more, Seven sons I to the Merman bore.”

“Now tell me, daughter, and fear no blame, What did he give for thy maiden fame?”

“He gave me a ring of golden sheen, Never a better one hath the Queen.

“Of golden shoon he gave me a pair, Never a better the Queen might wear.

“He gave me a harp of gold to play That I might touch its strings and wile my cares away.”

The Merman he made him a path so strait Up from the strand to the kirkyard gate.

Into the kirk the Merman hied, And all the holy images they turned their heads aside.

Like the purest gold was his shining hair, His eyes were full of sorrow and care.

“Lithe now and listen, Agnes, to me; All thy little children are longing after thee!”

“Let them long as they will, let their longing be sore, I shall return to them nevermore!”

“Oh, think of the big ones and think of the small! Of the baby in the cradle think thou most of all.”

“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.

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.”

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.

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.

After went Nilus Erlandsson That longed for her so sore; But never might he reach the hind For three days’ space and more.

Snares he set on every path Where’er the hind might go, But all so cunning was she He might not take her so.

Sir Nilus thro’ the greenwood Rode after her in vain; His hounds he loosed by two, by three, To run her down amain.

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.

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.

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.

“And wilt thou fell my father’s wood And all by wrongful power, I swear to thee, Nilus Erlandsson, Thou shalt abye it sore!”

“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!”

“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!”

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.

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.

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.

“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.

“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.”

The maid stood under the linden-tree, And loosed her golden hair, And thither they came that erst were wolves, Her seven maidens fair.

“Now thanks to thee, Nilus Erlandsson, Hast loosed me from sore alarms! Never shalt thou seek slumber But in my lily-white arms.

“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.

All on a Sunday evening they scoured both spear and sword, All on a Monday morning wrathful they rode abroad.

When they went by the northern shaw Sir Torben ploughing his land they saw.

“There standst thou, Sir Torben, so fair and fine! Now pay me blood-money for kinsman mine.”

“I will give thee farm and stead, I will give thee my daughter, so fair a maid.”

“We come not hither for house nor land, We come for the blood of thy red right hand!”

They hewed Sir Torben to pieces small As the leaves that under the linden fall.

They’re ridden up to Sir Torben’s stead, And there stood his daughter, so fair a maid.

She stood, as slim as a willow-wand, With a goblet of gold in either hand.

She poured the wine with sport and play, She pledged the man who her sire did slay.

“Now had I guessed thee so mild of mood, I ne’er had spilt thy father’s blood!”

“And if thou hast my father slain, Then I must dree right bitter pain.”

“And have I done ill to thee thereby Thou shalt fare hereafter as well as I.”

He set her up on his steed so true, He wrapped her in his cloak of blue.

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

Young was Inge the maid, —In the green grove— Yet she rode to the Thing unafraid. —To ride to the maiden’s bower.

Up and spake to his knights the King: “I spy a maiden that rides to the Thing!”

The little foot-page he answered then: “Oh, she comes here a-riding to gaze upon the men!

“But see her kirtle’s old-fashioned shape, And only look on her ill-cut cape!”

For all the maiden was so meek She heard each word the page did speak.

“And if my heart had felt no tene, I had been better at home, I ween!

“And did I not know mine errand well, I had been better at home to dwell!

“But my kirtle hath no ill-favoured shape, And after the mode is cut my cape.

“Thou King o’ Danes, now hark and hear; A plaint have I for thy gracious ear.

“I was but a little child Whenas I lost my mother mild.

“My father set me on his knee, And divided with me both gold and fee.

“But he died or ever two years were done; O’er house and lands I must rule alone.

“But in there came my uncles three, All my goods they waste from me.

“The mown they mar, the sown they spoil, Both man and maid they lure from toil.

“Oxen and kine they drive abroad, They wile my serving-men from my board.

“Ere I’ll live longer without relief I’ll give thee my father’s lands in fief!”

“Now thanks to thee for thy gift, O maid! Say, which of my knights thou fain wouldst wed?”

“And may I speak as my choice is made, ’Tis Sir Ove Stison I fain would wed.”

“Stand up, Sir Ove, and answer free; Here is a maiden will marry thee!”

Up stood Sir Ove, and answered so free: “Fair maiden, nought shalt thou win from me!

“Better can I tie a silken band Than play the farmer on lea and land.

“Better can I ride with hawk and hound Than drive the plough through the heavy ground!”

“Oh, sit in my chariot all by me, So good a farmer I’ll make of thee!

“Take plough in hand, lay the furrow featly, Take corn in hand, and scatter it meetly.

“And let the harrow after go, Thou’lt make a goodly farmer so;

“And of thy meat thou’lt be so fain That men will call thee a right true Dane!”

To laugh and be merry men were not loth When Sir Ove plighted the maid his troth.

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

“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.

“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!”

When first the dice of gold Upon the board did run, The youth he lost his wager, And glad the maiden won.

“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.”

“Now wager thou thy kirtle, Altho’ it be of grey, And I will wager my golden crown, Shalt take it, an thou may!”

When next the dice of gold Upon the board did run, The youth he lost his wager, And glad the maiden won.

“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.”

“Thy hosen shalt thou wager, And shoon shalt wager both; I’ll set thereto my honour, But and my plighted troth.”

And when the dice of gold Upon the board were cast, The youth he won the wager, And sad the maiden lost.

“Harken here, young jackanapes, And get thee gone from me! My knife adorned with silver That will I give to thee.”

“Thy knife adorned with silver I’ll take it when I may; But I will have the maiden I won with dice at play!”

“Harken here, young jackanapes, And get thee gone from me! Seven silk-sewn kirtles All will I give to thee.”

“Thy seven silk-sewn kirtles I’ll take whenas I may; But I will have the maiden I won with dice at play!”

“Harken here, young jackanapes, And get thee gone from me! A white steed and saddle Those will I give to thee.”

“White steed and saddle I’ll take whene’er I may; But I will have the maiden I won with dice at play!”

“Harken here, young jackanapes, And get thee gone from me! My hold and my castle Those will I give to thee.”

“Thy hold and thy castle I’ll take them when I may; But I will have the maiden I won with dice at play!”

The maiden sought her bower, And there her locks arrayed: “Now for the match that I must make GOD help me, luckless maid!”

All with his sword a-playing The youth he up and spake: “Oh, better far than thy deserts The match that thou shalt make!

“For I am ne’er a jackanapes, Altho’ it be thy word; I am the noblest son of kings That ever walked abroad!”

“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

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.

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.

It was young King Erik Bade saddle his steed so free: “Forth will we fare to the southland And visit this proud ladye!”

It was young King Erik That forth to dance did stand; He’s taken that dainty damsel All by her lily hand.

“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!”

“Oh, yestre’en I played at a bridal-feast, A-tilting with knights so tall, And hard is my hand with grasping the brand That won me the prize from all!”

“And wert thou yestre’en at a bridal-feast There tilted no knights so tall! Wert loading thy father’s wain with muck, And deeper in dirt than all.

“Ill they become thee, thy garments, Thy hosen are rent at the knee; Thy master hath given thee holiday, So thou must ride speedilie!”

“Are there no tailors, women or men, Here in this town o’ thine, Can cut me clothes of the scarlet cloth And sew them with silk so fine?”

“Tailors there are, both women and men, Here in this town o’ mine, Can cut thee breeches of wadmal coarse And sew them with hempen twine.”

“Lithe and listen, thou haughty maid, Wilt yield thy love to me? All the gold that in Denmark lies Thy portion it shall be!”

“All the gold that in Denmark lies Is held in strong duresse; Get thee gone and patch thy shoon! Thy feet will ache the less.”

Up spake the lady’s serving-maid As boldly as she might: “And it is young King Erik That thou dost scorn and spite!”

“And is it young King Erik That I have scorned and shent, Methinks I ha’ done an evil deed, And sore do I repent.

“All in the midst o’ my father’s garth There standeth a linden green, And many a knight and lady fair Hold tryst beneath unseen!”

“All in the midst o’ thy father’s garth There standeth a linden green, And many a thief and rascal wight Hold tryst beneath unseen!” —Lady, great is thy favour! I thank thee right courteously.

XXV

THE MAIDEN’S MORNING DREAM

This Ballad is a special favourite throughout Scandinavia. S. Grundtvig dates it from the twelfth century, the period of the Wendish invasions, and inclines to consider it as founded on fact. But, as Olrik points out, the Wend King here rides up, not as marauder, but as fairy prince; so that the Ballad was probably composed later, and borrowed his figure—a shadow of “old, unhappy, far-off things”—from earlier ones composed during the time of Wendish warfare. My translation of verse 21 hardly does justice to the original:

“Vesselil ind at Døren tren, da var det ret som Solen sken.”

XXV

THE MAIDEN’S MORNING DREAM

To the bower went Riseli, (But a Frankish mile away) And the maid awakened she. (The Wends come up to the castle.)

With honour and praise should maidens awake, But a whip for the waking did Riseli take.

“If thou dost lie and sleep so late, Never a knight wilt thou win for mate!”

“Oh, better I love my morning dream Than other maids their silken seam!

“Methought I was but a spirit light, To the land o’ the Wends I took my flight.

“So wide my wings were spanned They covered lea and land.

“I set me down on a linden-root, And the branches bowed beneath my foot.”

“Now heed, O niece, what I say to thee; Shalt give thy morning dream to me!

“Shalt give to me thy morning dream, And I’ll give thee all my summer’s seam.”

“Oh, keep thyself thy summer’s seam! Far dearer to me is my morning dream.”

Oh, scarcely had they done debate, When the Wendish King rode up to the gate.

The Wendish King rode up to the door, Riseli went and stood before.

“Welcome, noble lord of mine! Now shall I pour thee mead or wine?”

“I will have nor mead nor wine, But I will see Vesselil, niece o’ thine!”

“But five years old is Vesselil, She bides with her foster-mother still.”

“And an she were but three years old, These eyes the maiden must behold!”

“My other maids sit sewing still, But never of sleep can she have her fill.”

Into the hall the King she led, And forth to seek her niece she sped.

Her hair she tore, her face she struck: “Woe worth thee, Vesselil, for thy good luck!

“Now do thou on thy garments bright, For thou shalt see the King to-night.”

Into the hall did Vesselil fare, And it seemed as the sun shone in with her.

“Oh, never a maiden did I behold Was grown so well for five years old!”

He stroked her on her cheek so white, He called her love and heart’s delight.

“I give thee my word, O Vesselil, Shalt sleep as long as thou hast a will.”

They clad her all in silken weed, They lifted her on the good grey steed.

They set on her head a crown of gold, And the King he led her from the hold —But a Frankish mile away— The Wends come up to the castle.

XXVI

SIR KAREL’S LYKE-WAKE

This sixteenth-century Ballad has a Scots parallel in “Willie’s Wake,” and versions of the same story are found in Italy, Hungary, Bulgaria, and Galicia; but whether it travelled from south to north, or vice versa, cannot be determined. Little Kirsten’s self-betrayal in owning her love for the supposedly dead man is peculiar to the Northern form. The wistful, delicate humour, moreover, of the two concluding verses, seems to me characteristically Danish—their author, a literary ancestor of Hans Andersen.

It was young Sir Karel His mother’s rede did pray, If he should to the cloister ride And bear his love away. —The roses and the lilies all a-blowing.

“Shalt seem to die, a corse shalt lie In shroud the bier upon, And ne’er a one will seek to prove If thou art living man.”

Late, so late at even The sickness on him fell; All in the morning early They tolled for him the bell.

They’ve ta’en him, young Sir Karel, And streeked him for a corse, And all to tell the tidings His page has taken horse.

Up and into the cloister All with the bier they hied, The Prior came to meet them With mickle pomp and pride.

Forth they went, the singing-boys, Clad all in scarlet red, They bade the maidens come to watch: “For young Sir Karl is dead.”

It was little Kirsten Spake with her mother dear: “And may I to the watching wend Over Sir Karel’s bier?”

“Yea, do thou on thy scarlet weed, And deck thy head with gold; But be thou ’ware of young Sir Karl, His wiles are manifold!”

She entered in, the little maid, Amid the tapers’ shine, She could not see them burning bright, So tearful were her eyne.

Beside his head she sat her down, And for his soul she prayed: “Alas, thou wast my heart’s delight In the days ere thou wast dead!”

Beside his feet she sat her down, And smoothed the linen white: “Oh, in the days ere thou wast dead Thou wast my heart’s delight!”

Right softly then he up and spake: “Now cease from tene and tear, For lo, ’tis all for love of thee I lie upon the bier!