Young Swaigder: or, The Force of Runes, and Other Ballads

They kept the same for nine;
And there sat waiting the ancient man,
And through all of them did pine.

Be thanks to brave young Swaigder,
He kept so well his word;
A Knight he made of that ancient man,
Set him highest at the board.

Now joyful is young Swaigder,
His trouble all has fled;
He King became upon that land,
She Queen, when her sire was dead.

THE HAIL STORM[1 - This is a much later, and greatly improved, version of the ballad which first appeared in Romantic Ballads, 1826, pp. 136–138, and afterwards in Targum, 1835, pp. 42–43]

As in Horunga haven
We fed the crow and raven,
I heard the tempest breaking
Of demon Thorgerd’s waking;
Sent by the fiend in anger,
With din and stunning clangor;
To crush our might intended,
Gigantic hail descended.

A pound the smallest pebble
Did weigh, and others treble;
It drifted, dealing slaughter,
And blood ran out like water,
Ran recking, red and horrid,
From battered cheek and forehead;
But, though so rudely greeted,
No Jornsberg man retreated.

With anger ever sharper,
Thorgerda fierce, and Yrpr,
Shot lightning from each finger,
Which sped and did not linger.
Then sank our brave in numbers
To cold, eternal slumbers;
There lay the good and gallant,
Renowned for warlike talent.

To bide the storm unable
Our chieftain hewed his cable,
And with his ship departed —
We follow, broken-hearted;
For in Horunga haven
Our bravest feed the raven;
We did our best, but no men
Can stand ’gainst hail and foemen.

ROSMER MEREMAN[2 - This ballad should be read in conjunction with Rosmer, printed in The Mermaid’s Prophecy, and other Songs relating to Queen Dagmar, 1913, pp. 25–30.]

In Denmark once a lady dwelt,
Hellelil the name she bore;
A castle new that lady built,
It shone all Denmark o’er.

Her daughter dear was stolen away,
She sought for her far and near;
The more she sought the less she found,
To her great distress and care.

She bid a noble ship be built,
Therein gilt masts did stand;
With valiant knights and courtmen bold
She caused it to be manned.

Her sons she followed to the strand,
With many a fond caress;
For eight long years they sailed away,
Enduring much distress.

For eight years had they sailed away,
So long they thought the tide,
When they sailed before a lofty hill,
And straight to land they hied.

Then peeped the Damsel Swanelil
Forth from the mountain brow:
“O whence can be these stranger swains,
As guests that seek us now?”

The youngest brother then replied,
So ready of speech was he:
“A widow’s three poor sons we are,
So long we’ve sailed the sea.

“Dame Hellelil our mother is,
We were born on Denmark’s ground;
From us our sister stolen was,
And her we have yet not found.”

“If thou wert born on Danish ground,
And Dame Hellelil be thy mother
Then I thy beloved sister am
And thou art my youngest brother.

“Now do thou hear, my youngest brother,