Romantic Ballads Part 3

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 pain."

"Then take off thy kerchief, and cover my head, And perhaps I may stand in the wise-woman's stead."

"O Christ, that I had but a draught of the wave!

To quench my death-thirst, and my temples to lave."

Sir Middel was to her so tender and true, And he fetch'd her the drink in her gold-spangled shoe.

The fountain was distant, and when he drew near, Two nightingales sat there and sang in his ear: "Thy love, she is dead, and for ever at rest, With two little babes that lie cold on her breast."

Such was their song; but he heeded them not, And trac'd his way back to the desolate spot; But oh, what a spectacle burst on his view!

For all they had told him was fatally true.

He dug a deep grave by the side of a tree, And buried therein the unfortunate three.

As he clamp'd the mould down with his iron-heel'd boot He thought that the babies scream'd under his foot: Then placing his weapon against a grey stone, He cast himself on it, and died with a groan.

Ye maidens of Norway, henceforward beware!

For love, when unbridled, will end in despair.

ELVIR-SHADES.

FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER.

A sultry eve pursu'd a sultry day; Dark streaks of purple in the sky were seen, And shadows half conceal'd the lonely way;

I spurr'd my courser, and more swiftly rode, In moody silence, through the forests green, Where doves and linnets had their lone abode:

It was my fate to reach a brook, at last, Which, by sweet-scented bushes fenc'd around, Defiance bade to heat and nipping blast.

Inclin'd to rest, and hear the wild birds' song, I stretch'd myself upon that brook's soft bound, And there I fell asleep and slumber'd long;

And only woke, O wonder, to perceive A gold-hair'd maiden, as a snowdrop pale, Her slender form from out the ground upheave:

Then fear o'ercame me, and this daring heart Beat three times audibly against my mail; I wish'd to speak, but could no sound impart.

And see! another maid rose up and took Some drops of water from the foaming rill, And gaz'd upon me with a wistful look.

Said she, "What brings thee to this lonely place?

But do not fear, for thou shalt meet no ill; Thou steel-clad warrior, full of youth and grace."

"No;" sang the other, in delightful tone, "But thou shalt gaze on prodigies which ne'er To man's unhallow'd eye have yet been shown."

The brook which lately brawl'd among the trees Stood still, the murmur of that song to hear; No green leaf stirr'd, and fetter'd seem'd the breeze.

The thrush, upstarting in the distant dell, Shook its brown wing, with golden streaks array'd, And ap'd the witch-notes, as they rose and fell.

Bright gleam'd the lake's broad sheet of liquid blue, Where, with the rabid pike, the troutling play'd; The rose unlock'd its folded leaves anew,

And blush'd, besprinkled with the night's cold tear.

Once more the lily rais'd its head and smil'd, All ghastly white, as when it decks the bier.

Though sweet she sang, my fears were not the less, For in her accents there was something wild, Which I can feel, 't is true, but not express.

"Come with us," sang she, "deep below the earth, Where sun ne'er burns, and storm-winds never rave; Come with us to our halls of princely mirth,

"There thou shalt learn from us the Runic lay; But dip thee, first, in yonder crystal wave, Which binds thee to the Elfin race for aye:

"Though painted flowers on earth's breast abound, Yet we have far more lovely ones below; Like gra.s.s the chrysolites there strew the ground."

"O come," the other syren did exclaim, "For rubies there more red than roses grow-- The sapphir's blue the violet puts to shame."

I rais'd my eyes to heaven's starry dome, And gripp'd my faulchion with convulsive might, Resolv'd no witchcraft should my mind o'ercome.

My lengthen'd silence vex'd the maidens sore: "Wilt thou detain us here the live-long night, Or must we, stripling, proffer something more?

"Taught by us, thou shalt bind the rugged bear,-- Seize on the mighty dragon's heap of gold,-- And slay the c.o.c.katrice while in her lair!

"But from thy breast the blood we will suck out, Unless thou follow us beneath the mould!

Decide, decide, nor longer pause in doubt!"

Cold sweat I shed, and as, with trembling hand, I strove to whirl my beaming faulchion round, It sank, enthrall'd by magic's potent band.

Each witch drew nigh, with dagger high uprear'd; Just then a c.o.c.k, beyond the wild wood's bound, Crew loud--and in the earth they disappear'd.

I flung myself upon my frighten'd barb, Just as the shades began to grow less murk, And sun-beams clad the sky in gayer garb.

Let each young warrior from such places fly: Disease and death beneath the flowers lurk; And elves would suck the warm blood from his eye.