Part 2
“Now dress thee in thy fairest weed, Speak not to living wight-- For I will pray my father dear, And he will dub thee knight.
“Then come into the ladies’ bower, And stand thou not too near, That never a living wight may know How thou dost hold me dear.”
I went into the ladies’ bower, Right sore afraid was I! I looked not at my own true love Lest the serving-maid should spy.
She smiled, the lovely lady, Beneath her veil so thin; “Now who is he, the stranger squire, That comes so boldly in?”
Now thanks be to the kindly Count, So leal a lord was he! He gave away his daughter dear My beauteous bride to be. (And is she glad, then I rejoice.)
THE DROWNING OF JOHN REMORSSON
The good ship lies on the lee-land, And under her grows the grass, Oh never so rash a steersman As Sir John Remorsson was! (For the sea she taketh so many.)
The King sits up in Ribe And a letter writeth he; He bids his gallant captains Make ready for the sea.
It was Sir John Remorsson Put on his armour bright-- “The man is faithless to his king That will not sail to-night!”
It was Sir John Remorsson That girt him with his sword-- “The man who will not sail to-day Is faithless to his lord!
“To-night will we make merry And drink the foaming ale, And if the favouring weather hold, To-morrow we’ll set sail.”
It was the skipper Hogen Looked to the sky amain-- “He that will sail the sea to-day Will ne’er come home again!”
It was Sir John Remorsson To the haven cried aloud-- “Up with your sails, ye Danish men, In the great name of God!”
They had not sailed from land a league-- The waves they ran so high-- All sad sat skipper Hogen With the salt tear in his eye.
They had not sailed from land a league-- The waves they ran so deep-- All sad sat skipper Hogen, And sorely did he weep.
“Where is the doughty champion Yestre’en that talked so gay? Let him now take the helm in hand, For the anchor is reft away.
“Where is the doughty champion That talked so loud last even? Let him now take the helm in hand, For the sail is rent and riven.
“Now we will cast the lots around, And bide by heaven’s word; Is there a man of evil life, We’ll heave him overboard.”
And straight they cast the lots around To see who worked them woe; And the lot has fallen on good Sir John All overboard to go.
“So far, so far from land are we, With never a priest anear! But I will make my shrift aloud, And trust that God will hear.”
It was Sir John Remorsson Fell on his bended knee, And there he made his shrift aloud Before the mainmast tree.
“Full many a wife have I beguiled, And maidens bright of lee-- But never, ah never, good sooth, I thought That I should die by sea!
“Many a maiden have I beguiled, And many a loving wife-- But never, ah never, good sooth, I thought That the sea would have my life!
“The merciful Christ in heaven above I pray to pity me, For well I wot my sinful soul A heavy weird must dree.
“If ever a one of you comes to land, And meets my love of yore, Tell her to wed whene’er she may-- She’ll see my face no more.
“If ever a one of you comes to land And meets my mother dear, Tell her I dwell in the king his court In mirth and goodly cheer!”
Seven and seventy there they sailed Over the billows blue; And only five came home again Of those liege-men tall and true.
Now we will up to the goodly kirk, High God His grace to pray All for the soul of good Sir John, For his corse is cast away.
All out, all out by Boringholm The tides they run amain, And there floats many a goodly corse Will ne’er come home again!
(For the sea she taketh so many.)
SIR DALEBO’S VENGEANCE
Sir Dalebo built him a ship so great, The king himself had not its mate. They knew not Sir Dalebo Jonsen.
The king from his window was looking forth so free; “Whose is the gallant ship a-sailing in the sea?” “Now that is Sir Dalebo Jonsen’s.”
Up spake the king to his captains bold: “Bind him, Sir Dalebo, have him and hold! Bind him, Sir Dalebo Jonsen!”
Up sprang the captains on their steeds of dapple grey, And forth they galloped faster than a bird can fly away-- For they knew not Dalebo Jonsen!
Now they are come to his castle fair and great, And there stood his mother a-tarrying by the gate; “Show us Sir Dalebo Jonsen!”
“I cannot show you Dalebo, I know not where he be, For it is seven years and more he rode away from me-- I can show him not, Dalebo Jonsen.”
The captain pulled off his cap of blue, A thousand gold-pieces he told so true-- “Now show us Sir Dalebo Jonsen!”
“To the east o’ the court, in the bower above, Sir Dalebo talks with his own true love; Ye can find him there, Dalebo Jonsen.”
They knocked at the door with shield and with spear; Up sprang Sir Dalebo: “Whom have we here? Who are these?” said Dalebo Jonsen.
He put on his armour all shining and bright, Little Kirsten she clasped it, the best that she might-- “Clasp it hard!” said Dalebo Jonsen.
Sir Dalebo out of the window sprang-- His gold-hilted sword at his girdle rang-- “I come!” said Dalebo Jonsen.
He struck down one, he struck down two-- “’Tis thus the goodly game should go! Doth it like ye?” said Dalebo Jonsen.
He struck down three, he struck down four-- “The game goes better than of yore! What think ye?” said Dalebo Jonsen.
Sir Dalebo he mounted his steed of dapple-grey, And forth he galloped faster than a bird can fly away, “Tread softly!” said Dalebo Jonsen.
Sir Dalebo has come to his castle fair and great, There stood his mother, a-tarrying by the gate-- “Good-morrow!” said Dalebo Jonsen.
“Hearken, dear mother, to what I ask of thee! What didst thou with the money my foemen paid for me? I ask it, Sir Dalebo Jonsen.”
“Ah, Dalebo, ah, Dalebo, and wilt thou work me woe? Never for all the world would I sell thee to thy foe-- I sold thee not, Dalebo Jonsen.”
He drew his shining sword, and struck her where she stood, And all so small he hewed her as the beech-leaves in the wood-- “Lie thou there!” said Dalebo Jonsen.
Sir Dalebo he mounted his steed of dapple-grey, And forth he galloped faster than a bird that flies away-- For wroth was Sir Dalebo Jonsen.
Sir Dalebo has ridden to the castle fair and great; There stood the King o’ Danes, a-tarrying by the gate. “Good greeting!” said Dalebo Jonsen.
“Hearken now, Sir Dalebo, and look thou tell to me! Where are they, my champions, I sent of late to thee? Tell me that, Sir Dalebo Jonsen!”
“Oh some of them are sick, and some of them are sore, And some are lying still, to rise again no more, That thou sentest to Dalebo Jonsen.
“Go then, get thy salt, bid thy scullions ready be, If thou wilt salt the flesh that I have carved for thee! I rede thee, Sir Dalebo Jonsen.”
“I pray thee, dear Sir Dalebo, now sheathe thy shining brand! For freely will I give thee mine only daughter’s hand! I pray thee, Sir Dalebo Jonsen!”
“What reck I of your wenches, or your serving-maids so gay? I have mine own true sweetheart, that’s fairer far than they! I say it, Dalebo Jonsen!”
THE LUCK OF THE LINDEN-TREE
Of two true-lovers this tale I tell, That loved each other long and well. (We tread the dance so featly.)
Their love it nourished as fair and free As the branch grows green on the linden-tree.
The knight to other lands must roam-- The lady, she must bide at home.
“I’ll plant a linden by thy bower, Leaves that beareth, and many a flower.
“And when the linden sheds its leaves, Then shalt thou know thy true-love grieves.
“And when the tree its flowers hath shed, Then shalt thou know thy love is dead.”
When night was done and dawn was grey The lady looked upon the brae.
“God bless the tree, so green it grows! Well fares my love, where’er he goes!”
That heard the wily serving-maid; Those lovers true hath she betrayed.
The serving-maid, she up and spake: “I’ll spill your loves ere dawn shall break!”
The serving-maid, so false was she, She tore the leaves from the linden-tree.
When night was done and dawn was grey The lady looked upon the brae.
“The linden-tree hath shed its leaves-- “Full well I wot my true-love grieves.
“The linden-tree its flowers hath shed-- I wot full well my love is dead.
“And is he dead, my heart’s desire, My bower and all I’ll burn with fire.”
She’s laid a brand her bower unto-- She’s choked herself with the bolster blue.
When all the bower in a bale did stand Her love came a-sailing back to land.
When all the bower was ashes and dust Her love put in to the selfsame coast.
Unto his page he spake, the knight-- “Whose bower is this that burns so bright?
“If my true-love is dead, I say, God wot, I’ll die the self-same day.”
Against a stone he set his hilt, And there his heart’s blood hath he spilt. (We tread the dance so featly.)
AGNES AND THE MERMAN
Agnes she walked on the cliff so steep; Up came a merman out of the deep. (Ha, ha, ha! Up came a merman out of the deep.)
“Hearken now, Agnes, so fair and so fine! Say, wilt thou come to be true love o’ mine?”
“Yes, good sooth, that will I be-- But how can I dwell in the depths of the sea?”
He has stopped her ears, and stopped her mouth as well; So he bore her down, all in the sea to dwell.
She dwelt with the merman eight years and more-- Seven fair sons to him she bore.
Agnes she sat by the cradle and sang, And she heard how the bells of England rang.
Unto the merman she then did say: “May I go up to the kirk to pray?”
“Yes, thou shalt go, and pray withal; But see thou come back to thy children small.
“When thou hast entered the kirkyard fair, Then shalt thou not let down thy shining golden hair.
“And when thou hast entered the door so wide, Then sit not down by thy mother’s side.
“When the priest names the Name of dread, Thou shalt not bow thy head.”
He has stopped her ears, and stopped her mouth amain; So he bore her up to the English strand again.
When she came to the kirkyard fair, Then she let down her shining golden hair.
And when she entered the door so wide, She sat her down by her mother’s side.
When she heard the Name of dread, Then she bowed down her head.
“Hearken now, Agnes, to what I ask of thee-- Where hast thou been eight years away from me?”
“I dwelt in the sea eight years and more; Seven sons so fair I to the merman bore.”
“Tell me, dear 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 may wear.
“He gave me a harp of gold so gay, That I might play upon, to drive my cares away.”
The merman he made him a path so straight Up from the strand to the kirkyard gate.
Into the kirk he went, that selfsame day, And all the holy images, they turned their heads away.
Like the red, red gold was his shining hair; His eyes were full of sorrow and care.
“Hearken now, Agnes, hearken unto me! All thy little children are longing after thee.”
“Let them long as they will, yea, let them long so sore! I shall return to them never more.”
“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 no more at all.” (Ha, ha, ha! Of the baby in the cradle I’ll think no more at all.)
ORIGINAL
MORS JANUA VITÆ
It was the outworn clay That slept in endless peace; It was the dead man’s sprite, All in the wan moonlight An hour before the day, That mourned, and might not cease.
“Oh body, oh body of mine, Deep, deep and soft thy rest! Thy burning now is cold In kindly churchyard and mould, That weights thy wearied eyne And thine untroubled breast.
“But I must wander and wail-- Must bear, in wrath and rue, The burning of quenchless fire-- The frustrate, deep desire For heights I did not scale, For deeds I did not do.
“Oh warm life left behind! Oh hearts that held me dear! In my remembered place Dwells healing and solace, Among the kinsmen kind Who decked my sepulchre.”
He sought his father’s castle-- But lo! in bower and hall The time was come for mirth. No place, by that glad hearth, ’Mid song and feast and wassail, For care funereal.
“Where hushed is earthly din, And dreams may come and go; Where day is drowned deep All under the wings of sleep, There will I enter in, And there will tell my woe.”
He mixed with the drifting dance Of dreams that went and came-- But by the sleeper’s head An angel watched the bed; His pure and piercing glance Was like a sword of flame.
“Hence, thou overbold, Wouldst do the deed forbid! Unmeet that flesh should hear Thy tale of woe and fear-- Unmeet that flesh should see What God with a veil hath hid.”
“Oh eyes that have grown blind! Oh hearts that have forgot! Of human love bereft, One hope to me is left; The beast’s dumb soul is kind, Faithful, forsaking not.”
But the petted palfrey neighed In fear, with starting eye That searched the shades around-- And shrank the faithful hound, Bristling, sore afraid, When he felt the dead draw nigh.
Then the spirit turned and fled, Wailing, along the blast; “Torn, torn from life’s warm breast, In death I find no rest! Where hide my shameful head? What refuge find at last?”
Around and about and abroad He went, while the stars grew dim, Till ’neath a sombre pine He saw a wayside shrine, And heard how Christ the Lord Spake from the Rood to him.
Yea, once and yet again Spake that small voice and still: “I bear thy sins for thee; Canst thou not wait with Me The slow-wrought fruit of pain, The long redress of ill?”
It was the outworn clay That slept beneath the sod: It was the dead man’s sprite, While all the east grew white In the wide dawn of day, That waited, praising God.
BALLAD OF THE TURNING TIDE
The mermaid sat in Sundal Sound, Combing her lint-white locks; She saw the ships sail in and out Among the rugged rocks.
The mermaid sat in Sundal Sound, Combing her locks so wet-- “I’ve laid my love on a mortal man, And I will have him yet!”
It was the maiden Æthelgif Walked in the blowing meads, And she marked how the tide came in from sea, And whispered among the reeds.
The tide so free came in from sea, And filled the banks to the brim-- And up sailed Ragnar the rover bold, And his merry men with him.
Ragnar the rover leapt to land Before the maiden pale; She saw the stars in his haughty helm, The low moon in his mail.
Sir Ragnar stared on Æthelgif, And uttered never a sound; But in the song of the nightingale His secret thoughts she found.
And all the tale he might not tell, The lore of the North and the South, Was in the look of his eyes, and the kiss That he pressed on her trembling mouth.
Up and spake the mermaiden, Beneath the keel did swim: “Would Ragnar woo a mortal maid, The worser woe for him!”
The mermaid fell, she spoke a spell, And said a secret rune Or ever he wist, and the maid he kissed Grew faded and faint eftsoon,
As the wavering mist, or ever he wist, All under the mighty charm-- And like a wraith of wind and breath She vanished from out his arm.
It was the mermaid fair and fell That sang by the good ship’s side “Ho, ho, for the kiss of the salt sea-spray, And the toss o’ the turning tide!”
Alone in the mead the maiden stood Like one in a waking dream; She saw the sail wind in and out Along the level stream; Like wan marsh-fire were the shields that shone Afar in the faint moonbeam.
“Oh the gulls fly out with the turning tide And cry across the land, Each to each in an alien speech That I fain would understand.”
When days were done and years came on, Her sire did speak and say: “Let bells be rung and Mass be sung For a blithesome bridal-day!”
“Oh sweeter to me the wind from sea That whispers among the reeds, Than the wooing words of a bridegroom blithe, Or the tramp of the festal steeds!”
Up and spake the groom so gay: “Come, pour the red, red wine! Play up, play up, ye minstrel men, To cheer this bride o’ mine!
“For the evening-star, like a bridal lamp, Over the tower doth stand; While thin and pale as a wedding-veil The mist steals o’er the land.”
She let the golden cup fall down, And stared as she were wood; “Oh is it wine ye pour for me, Or a beaker of red, red blood?
“Like a dirge for the dead is the music glad That the minstrels play so loud; And the mist that’s pale as a bridal-veil Is white as a waiting shroud!”
Up and spake the mermaiden All under the waning moon: “Ho, ho for the ship that sails at dawn, And sinks ere afternoon!
“Ho, ho! for the blood of Ragnar’s breast On his foeman’s sword is wet! I laid my love on a mortal man, And I will have him yet!”
It was Sir Ragnar, the rover bold, Clung to a floating spar And drifted in with the turn o’ the tide Across the harbour-bar.
Oh his look was shent, and his helm was bent, And his mail was riven and brast, And the stream that was so clear before Ran red where’er he passed.
Red, red his blood ran down the flood-- And, wavering, drowned, and dim, Like the face of death, from the dark beneath, The cold moon stared at him.
Into the hall Sir Ragnar went-- God wot, his face was pale! The spray was on his dinted helm, The red blood on his mail.
“Turn round, turn round, thou beauteous bride! Turn round and look on me! Say, wilt thou wed a living man, Or a dead man out o’ the sea?”
She took him in her lily-white arms-- She kissed him on the brow-- “I loved thee well for seven long years, And well I love thee now!”
It was Sir Ragnar laid him down Dead at the maiden’s feet; She’s wrapped him in her bridal veil, All for a winding-sheet.
Up and spake the shaven priest-- “Woe worth the paynim foul! Ye may not lay him in holy ground, Nor sing for his sinful soul.
“Cast out his corse to sink or swim With the toss o’ the turning tide! Let it ne’er be said that Christian maid Would be a rover’s bride!”
Up and spake the mermaiden-- “Ho, ho, for his pallid lips! Ho for the merry fish that swim Among the sunken ships!
“Ho, ho! for see where he comes to A-floating down so fast! I laid my love on a mortal man, And he is mine at last!”
BALLAD OF ALL SOULS’ EVE
Between the shrouded fen, and the desolate dunes of sand Where the fretting seas gnash white, there lies a lonely land.
No heights about it couch their grim flanks seamed with scars; But it hath the wider heaven, and the sky more full of stars.
Like the verge of the ultimate seas are its long horizon lines; Like the moan of mourning waves the song of its sombre pines.
The minstrel’s out on the moor; while far and faint in the wind Ring the bells of All Souls’ Eve in the town he has left behind.
Beneath the sombre pine he has laid him down to sleep, With his harp beside his head; and night grows dark and deep.
Softly the wind came sighing, and as it sighed he heard In the harp a voice that moaned and mourned on a woeful word;
“Lo, is it naught?” said the voice in the sobbing strings that sighed-- With the wind it wailed and rose, with the wind it sank and died.
Spell-bound he, Herluin, lay, and watched like one in a dream, The moonbeams quiver and dance, and the long reeds sway in the stream,
Till again, an icy breath, the wind came whispering, And stirred his stiffened hair, and sighed from string to string,
And sobbed into speech; “Is it naught,” the low voice singing said, “Is it naught to thee at all that dust of uncounted dead
“Is mixed in this lean grey soil? that on this moorland lone The hosts of mighty men lie scattered bone from bone?
“Go search the monkish records, and scarce shall be descried Thro’ the dust on an ancient page, the tale of us who died!
“Ho, morn of shrieks and slaughter, when my Danes and I came down, Driving our foes like flocks, and sacked the trembling town!--
“When I struck to my battle-song, and the swords rang round my head That I heard not mine own voice, and knew not that I bled!
“Woe worth the brand that broke! Woe worth the blinding blow! Woe worth, woe worth the day when I felt my life-blood flow!
“I felt my life-blood flow; I felt my strength and my wit, My heart and my hope and my valour flow drop by drop with it.
“Under these pines I fell, and under these pines I woke; And I saw their stems as a fire, their boughs as a brooding smoke.
“Woe, woe! for the fight was over, and all around was peace, Save for a moan on the moor, and a long sigh in the trees,
“And a voice that came and went and wailed in its wandering-- Deep in my mazèd mind I knew ’twas an evil thing.
“Oh for the age that I heard, dying alone in the dark, That baleful voice, and watched the green and glimmering spark,
“The eye of the prowling wolf, draw near and near and near!-- Thou of the stone-built dwelling what dost thou know of fear?”
Sudden, the wind dropped. The voice died into the night As the ripples died on the river, and, in the wan moonlight,
Still grew the wavering rushes, and still the trembling strings: Spell-bound lay Herluin, who gazed on all these things,
And knew not that he saw--while o’er the moorland’s rim, Lucent, and wan, and lone, the cold moon stared at him.
Long, long it seemed till the wind, a frozen, fleeting breath, Wailed back from far away, “What dost thou know of Death?”
Murmured the voice, “Give heed, list to the dark, oh day! Hot heart, hear thou the dust! For, as in fear I lay,
“Cursing my limbs of lead, Death’s icy hand took hold Of my heart; the stars went out; thus, thus my tale was told!
“I stood, a naked soul; ’tis strange and still, I trow, When the heart has ceased to beat, and the blood has ceased to flow.
“Ay, strange to the shuddering soul, when the heart has ceased to beat, And it sees the wan corse lie, unheeding at its feet!--
“I hear a rush in the firs, a rush as of hastening horse-- Like the forelocks of fiery steeds the branches waver and toss.
“See, see where Odin’s war-maids to choose the dead draw nigh! They come with the shout o’ the storm along the scurrying sky.
“See where their lucent spears, like shafts of wan moonlight, Pierce from the height of the heavens, lay bare the heart of night!
“See, see where Bifrost Bridge arches from cloud to cloud, Built of the gleaming rainbow! See the exulting crowd.
“Of the heroes that shouting cross to feast in high Valhall, Where the Maids pour the Æsir-mead to glad their souls withal!