Kitabı oku: «The King's Wake, and Other Ballads», sayfa 2

 
When the King with Signil she perceived.
 
 
Sophia the Queen to her maid did sign:
“Go fetch me hither a horn of wine.”
 
 
His hand the King stretched forth so free:
“Wilt thou Sophia my partner be?”
 
 
“O I’ll not dance with thee, I vow,
Unless proud Signil pledge me now.”
 
 
The horn she raised to her lips, athirst,
The innocent heart in her bosom burst.
 
 
There stood King Valdemar pale as clay,
Stone dead at his feet the maiden lay.
 
 
“A fairer maid since I first drew breath
Ne’er came more guiltless to her death.”
 
 
For her wept woman and maid so sore,
To the Church her beauteous corse they bore.
 
 
But better with her it would have sped,
Had she but heard what her mother said.
 

SWAYNE FELDING

 
Swayne Felding sits at Helsingborg,
   He tells his deeds with pride;
Full blythe at heart I ween he was,
   His faulchion at his side.
 
 
He vows that he on pilgrimage
   To regal Rome will go;
And many a Danish warrior bold
   Doth make the self same vow.
 
 
So out they rode from Danish land,
   And only two were they;
They stopped to rest them in a town,
   Its name was Hovdingsey.
 
 
They stopped to rest in a lofty town,
   Its name was Hovdingsey;
They guested with a Damsel proud,
   A wondrous lovely may.
 
 
She placed Swayne highest at the board
   Amidst a knightly band;
And then wherefrom they two were come
   The Damsel did demand.
 
 
“Thou art no needy pilgrim, Sir,
   Who honorest us this eve;
And that can I by thy small shirt
   Hooked with red gold perceive.
 
 
“O I can plain by thy small shirt
   With red gold hooked discern,
Thou art the King of Denmark come
   To do us a noble turn.”
 
 
“I am not Denmark’s King, fair maid,
   Nor any thing so high;
I’m but a needy pilgrim, born
   Within the Dane country.
 
 
“Now list to me thou Damsel fair,
   List kindly I beseech,
There’s many a child in Denmark born,
   And with his own luck each.”
 
 
And there sat she the damsel fair,
   And the silken seam she sewed;
For every stitch she sew’d a tear
   From her eyes of beauty flowed.
 
 
“Now do thou hear, my damsel dear,
   Why dost so sorely grieve?
If thou declare thy bosom’s care
   Perchance I can relieve.”
 
 
“Within our land a Giant lives
   Who waste our land will lay;
Upon no other food than maids
   And ladies will he prey.
 
 
“Within our country lives a trold
   From us our land will tear,
Unless we can procure a man