The Tale of Brynild, and King Valdemar and His Sister: Two Ballads

My well beloved lord,
Borrow of him his Adelring,
His famous trusty sword.

“Tell him thou needest it so oft
When thou dost wage a fight,
But soon as ’tis within thy hand
Hew off his head outright.”

It was the bold Sir Nielus then
His mantle puts he on;
To Sivard, his companion true,
To the high hall he’s gone.

“Now hear, O Sivard Snareswayne,
Thy sword unto me lend,
For I unto the field of fight
Full soon my course must bend.”

“My trusty faulchion Adelring
I’ll freely lend to thee;
No man be sure shall thee o’ercome,
However strong he be.

“My trusty faulchion Adelring
To thee I’ll freely yield,
But, oh! beware thee of the tears
Beneath the hilt conceal’d.

“Beware thee of those frightful tears,
They all are bloody red;
If down thy fingers they should run
Thou wert that moment dead.”

Upstood the bold Sir Nielus then,
Drew out the sword amain;
One blow and off the head is hewn
Of Sivard Snareswayne.

Beneath his mantle then he takes
The head, distilling blood,
And hurrying to the chamber high
Before Brynilda stood.

“Behold the head, the bloody head,
Thou didst so crave to gain;
For thee I’ve done a felon deed
Which gives my heart such pain.”

“O lay aside the bloody head,
It fills my heart with fright;
And come to me, my dearest lord,
Beneath the linen white.”

“I crave thee, woman, not to think
I came for sport and play;
Thou wast the wicked cause that I
From honour went astray.”

It was the bold Sir Nielus then
His faulchion he drew out;
It was the beauteous Brynild whom
He all to pieces smote.

“Now have I slain my comrade dear,
And eke my lovely may,
Yet still I am resolved in mind
A third, a third to slay.”

So then against the hard stone floor
He placed the trusty glaive;
To his heart’s root the point in went,
And him his death wound gave.

’Twere better that this maid had died
Within her mother’s womb,
Than that these princely men through her
To such an end should come.

Now will I rede, each honest man
Well to deliberate ever;
Unequalled woman’s cunning is,
Though guiles of men be clever.

She laughs when ’tis her wish to laugh,
And weeps when she will weep;
Whene’er she wants thy heart to move
Fair words on thee she’ll heap.

Be she sick, or be she well,
In woman ne’er confide;
In murder red, by woman led,
His hands Sir Nielus dyed.

KING VALDEMAR AND HIS SISTER

See, see, with Queen Sophy sits Valdemar bold.
About little Kirsten much parlance they hold.

“Now hark, my good Lord! I have this to propose,