Romantic Ballads | Page 8

my son."
"O far have I wander'd, renown'd is my name,
The heroes I conquer'd
wherever I came:
"Han Elland, 't is true, long disputed the ground,
But yet he receiv'd
from my hand his death-wound."
Sir Erik then alter'd his countenance quite,
And out hurried he, in the

gloom of the night.
"Fill high, little Kirstin, my best drinking cup,
And be the brown
liquor with poison mixt up."
She gave him the draught, and returning with speed,
"Young gallant,"
said he, "thou must taste my old mead."
Sir Fridleif unbuckled his helmet and drank;
Sweat sprung from his
forehead--his features grew blank.
"I never have drain'd, since the day I was born,
A bitterer draught,
from a costlier horn:
"My course is completed, my life is summ'd up,
For treason I smell in
the dregs of the cup."
Sir Erik then said, while he stamp'd on the ground,
"Young knight, 't
is thy fortune to die like a hound.
"My best belov'd friend thou didst boast to have slain,
And I have
aveng'd him by giving thee bane:
"Not Helga, but Hela, {1} shall now be thy bride;
Dark blue are her
cheeks, and she looks stony-eyed."
"Sir Erik, thy words are both witty and wise,
And hell, when it has
thee, will have a rich prize!
"Convey unto Helga her gold ring so red;
Be sure to inform her when
Fridleif is dead;
"But flame shall give water, and marble shall bleed,
Before thou shalt
win by this treacherous deed:
"And I will not die like a hound, in the straw,
But go, like a hero, to
Odin and Thor."

He cut himself thrice, with his keen-cutting glaive,
And went to
Valhalla, {2} the way of the brave.
The knight bade his daughter come into the room:
"Look here, my
sweet child, on thy merry bridegroom."
She look'd on the body, and gave a wild start;
"O father, why hadst
thou so cruel a heart?"
She moan'd and lamented, she rav'd and she curst;
She look'd on her
love, till her very eyes burst.
At midnight, Sir Erik was standing there mute,
With two pallid corses
beside his cold foot:
He stood stiff and still; and when morning-light came,
He stood, like
a post, without life in his frame.
The youth and the maid were together interr'd,
Sir Erik could not
from his posture be stirr'd:
He stood there, as stiffly, for thirty long days,
And look'd on the earth
with a petrified gaze.
'T is said, on the night of the thirtieth long day,
To dust and to ashes
he moulder'd away.
SIR MIDDEL.
FROM THE OLD DANISH.
So tightly was Swanelil lacing her vest,
That forth spouted milk, from
each lily-white breast;
That saw the Queen-mother, and thus she
begun:
"What maketh the milk from thy bosom to run?"
"O this is
not milk, my dear mother, I vow;
It is but the mead I was drinking
just now."
"Ha! out on thee minion! these eyes have their sight;

Would'st tell me that mead, in its colour, is white?"
"Well, well, since
the proofs are so glaring and strong,
I own that Sir Middel has done

me a wrong."
"And was he the miscreant? dear shall he pay,
For the
cloud he has cast on our honour's bright ray;
I'll hang him up; yes, I
will hang him with scorn,
And burn thee to ashes, at breaking of
morn."
The maiden departed in anguish and wo,
And straight to Sir
Middel it lists her to go;
Arriv'd at the portal, she sounded the bell,

"Now wake thee, love, if thou art living and well."
Sir Middel he
heard her, and sprang from his bed;
Not knowing her voice, in
confusion he said,
"Away: for I have neither candle nor light,
And I
swear that no mortal shall enter this night!"
"Now busk ye, Sir
Middel, in Christ's holy name;
I fly from my mother, who knows of
my shame;
She'll hang thee up; yes, she will hang thee with scorn,

And burn me to ashes, at breaking of morn."
"Ha! laugh at her
threat'nings, so empty and wild;
She neither shall hang me, nor burn
thee, my child:
Collect what is precious, in jewels and garb,
And I'll
to the stable and saddle my barb."
He gave her the cloak, that he us'd
at his need,
And he lifted her up, on the broad-bosom'd steed.
The
forest is gain'd, and the city is past,
When her eyes to the heaven she
wistfully cast.
"What ails thee, dear maid? we had better now stay,

For thou art fatigu'd by the length of the way."
"I am not fatigu'd by
the length of the way;
But my seat is uneasy, in truth, I must say."

He spread, on the cold earth, his mantle so wide;
"Now rest thee, my
love, and I'll watch by thy side."
"O Jesus, that one of my maidens
were near!
The pains of a mother are on me, I fear."
"Thy maidens
are now at a distance from thee,
And thou art alone in the forest with
me."
"'Twere better to perish, again and again,
Than thou should'st
stand by me, and gaze on my