{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26787/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26787","id":"gutenberg_26787","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26787","summary":null,"tags":["Ballads","Category: Adventure","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","English poetry"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price, email\nccx074@pglaf.org\n\n\n\n\n\n                            ALF THE FREEBOOTER\n                           LITTLE DANNEVED AND\n                               SWAYNE TROST\n\n                            AND OTHER BALLADS\n\n                                    BY\n                              GEORGE BORROW\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                     PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION\n\n                                   1913\n\n               _Copyright in the United States of America_\n           _by Houghton_, _Mifflin & Co. for Clement Shorter_.\n\n\n\n\nSIR ALF THE FREEBOOTER\n_Song the First_\n\n\nSir Alf he is an Atheling,\nBoth at Stevn and at Ting. {5}\n   _Know ye little Alf_?\n\nAlf he builds a vessel stout,\nFor he will rove and sail about.\n\nAlf he builds a vessel high,\nThe trade of pirate he will try.\n\nHe draws on the sand a circle mark,\nAnd with a bound he gained the bark.\n\nUpon the prow Alf foremost stood,\nAnd Copenhagen\u2019s koggers view\u2019d.\n\nO\u2019er the wide sea he flung a look,\nHe knew the course the vessels took.\n\n\u201cThere koggers nine salute mine eyes,\nAll, all they bear shall be my prize.\u201d\n\nAlone into a boat he goes,\nAnd briskly to the koggers rows.\n\n\u201cWell met, ye Courtmen, clad in mail\nUnto what haven do ye sail?\u201d\n\n\u201cUnto that haven we are bound,\nWhere Alf is likeliest to be found.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat will ye on the man bestow\nWho unto ye Sir Alf can show?\u201d\n\n\u201cSilver and gold to him we\u2019ll give,\nAll he can wish for shall he receive.\n\nPresents of worth he shall not miss,\nThe robber\u2019s vessel shall be his.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what shall be the pirates\u2019 lot,\nIf Alf the pirate escape you not?\u201d\n\n\u201cHis mariners we\u2019ll hew and slay,\nHimself we will in irons lay.\u201d\n\n\u201cHa! little Alf ye here may see,\nSlight victory ye shall win from me!\u201d\n\n\u201cUp, up and board, my gallant crew,\nCable and rope asunder hew!\u201d\n\nTill he was weary Alf he hew\u2019d,\nIn fifteen Courtmen\u2019s gore he stood.\n\nHe captured all the koggers nine,\nAnd sailed for Norway o\u2019er the brine.\n\nTo Rostock in the tiding goes,\nThen palened many a cheek of rose.\n\nWidow and child lamented sore,\nThis hurtful hawk had made them poor.\n\nBut they must thole this damage all,\nTheir tears but bootless, bootless fall.\n   _Know ye little Alf_?\n\n\n\n\nSIR ALF THE FREEBOOTER\n_Song the Second_\n\n\nSir Alf will not stay in Norroway land,\n   For he passes his time there wearily;\nFull fifteen lordships in fief he holds,\n   He can live thereout right merrily.\n\nSir Alf he walks on the verdant wold,\n   Conning his breviary;\nThere meets him Bendit Rimaardson,\n   For God of his sins was weary.\n\n\u201cGood morrow, good day, thou little Sir Alf,\n   Thou art a valiant noble,\nBut if thou become the King\u2019s prisoner to-day,\n   The land will know less trouble.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not the little Sir Alf,\n   I vow by the holy Mary;\nI am but a little mass-boy, Sir,\n   To the priest the wine I carry!\u201d\n\nBendit lifted his high, high hat,\n   And upon his visage staring,\nSaid: \u201cThou art the little Norwegian Alf,\n   If mine eyes are the truth declaring.\n\n\u201cThou wast a school boy along with me,\n   Thou darest not deny it;\nAnd well at the school I remember thee,\n   Thou gavest us no quiet.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf thou be Bendit Rimaardson,\n   Thou art my near relation;\nIf to-day thou wilt swear thou knowest me not,\n   Thou wilt do me an obligation.\u201d\n\nBut straight they took the little Sir Alf,\n   And gyves to his legs they fastened;\nAnd away, away to Helsingborg,\n   With the captive Alf they hastened.\n\n\u201cNow take little Alf to the chamber high,\n   To the hall of the regal tower,\nThat the Queen at her ease, and her maids, if they please.\n   May behold this thief of power.\u201d\n\nThen up and spake the Danish Queen,\n   On first little Alf espying:\n\u201cThe man that I see cannot surely be he,\n   Whose fame through the world is flying.\u201d\n\n\u201cThough I of stature be little and mean,\n   I\u2019ve every manly talent,\nAnd ne\u2019er wilt thou bear thy lord an heir,\n   Half, half so good and gallant.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d give my mantle with roses red,\n   And lilies flowered over,\nIf I might sleep one night with thee,\n   And play the ardent lover.\n\n\u201cIf I one night with thee might sleep,\n   None knowing but thy maid servant,\nFor then, I ween, thou would\u2019st beg, fair Queen,\n   For my pardon in accents fervent.\u201d\n\nThen answered him the Danish Queen,\n   As she struck the board with vigour:\n\u201cTo-morrow, ere folk to breakfast go,\n   On a gibbet thou shalt figure!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy hang\u2019st thou not Ivor of Holsterbro,\n   And Canute of Sonderboro?\nThey were thieves like me, but they slept with thee,\n   And their death would have caused thee sorrow.\u201d\n\nThen they took away the little Sir Alf\n   From the hall of the regal tower;\nFor the beauteous Queen and her ladies had seen\n   Enough of this thief of power.\n\nThey led the little Count Sir Alf\n   Out East from Helsing city;\nWith contrite breast he his sins confess\u2019d,\n   And to God he cried for pity.\n\n\u201cNow I counsel each noble woman\u2019s son,\n   He in honour\u2019s courses guide him,\nWith his equals dwell in the land, for well\n   With all will that land provide him.\n\n\u201cFor many a day and many a year\n   I\u2019ve plundered, as every one knoweth;\nBut what we win with injustice and sin\n   With shame and sorrow goeth.\n\n\u201cA Count was I, of Erling\u2019s race,\n   O\u2019er Timsberg\u2019s rich fief I lorded;\nThat filled me with pride, and my will I would have,\n   Though my will with no law accorded.\n\n\u201cFirst, first on all who my hate had won\n   I murders foul committed;\nThen to wife and maid no respect I paid,\n   But shamefully them I treated.\n\n\u201cFrom the needy citizen his goods\n   And his life besides I\u2019ve riven;\nWidow and orphans my deeds bemoan,\n   And for vengeance cry to heaven.\n\n\u201cLord God to me kind and clement be,\n   And grant me this petition:\nLet me gain, when this death of shame I\u2019ve thol\u2019d,\n   Into endless life admission.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE DANNEVED AND SWAYNE TROST.\n\n\n\u201cO what shall I in Denmark do?\n   To bear your armour I\u2019m too weak;\nThe Danish warriors jeer at me,\n   Because their tongue I cannot speak.\u201d\n\nIt was the young Danneved,\n   He bade them saddle his courser grey:\n\u201cO I will ride to Borrebye,\n   And a visit to my mother pay.\u201d\n\nO clinking were his spurs so keen,\n   And swiftly sped his horse along;\nAt Lundy Kirk in Skaaney land\n   He stopped to hear the matin song.\n\nO first he heard the matin song,\n   To hear nine masses stopped he then;\nAnd now it lists young Danneved\n   To mount upon his steed again.\n\nOut spake Oluf, the aged and good,\n   He was I ween the parish priest:\n\u201cI beg of thee, little Danneved,\n   To be this day my honoured guest.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis day I\u2019ll break with no man bread,\n   Nor drink a drop of rosy wine,\nUntil I come to Borrebye,\n   And hold discourse with mother mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow hear me, dearest Danneved,\n   Give o\u2019er, I beg, thy purpose straight;\nSo many of thy enemies\n   Before the town in ambush wait.\u201d\n\n\u201cO first I trust in my faulchion good,\n   And then I trust in my courser tall,\nAnd next to them in my merry swains,\n   But in my own self most of all.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis well to trust in thy faulchion good,\n   \u2019Tis well to trust in thy courser tall,\nBut do not trust in thy merry swains,\n   For they\u2019ll deceive thee first of all.\u201d\n\nIt was little Danneved,\n   Abroad before the town he came;\nAnd there met him his enemies,\n   Thrice nine in number were the same.\n\nSo numerous were these enemies,\n   For him that did in ambush lie,\nAll Danneved\u2019s swains they took their leave,\n   And from their lord did basely fly.\n\nAll his merry men took their leave,\n   And from their master basely flew,\nExcept the young Swayne Trost alone,\n   He with his lord took on anew.\n\n\u201cO I, my Lord, your clothes have worn,\n   And ridden have I, my Lord, your steed,\nAnd I will stand by you to-day,\n   Nor leave you in your greatest need.\n\n\u201cO I have taken your silver and gold,\n   And I have eaten of your bread,\nAnd I\u2019ll not budge from you to-day,\n   Although my life-blood I should shed.\u201d\n\nSo they their backs together placed,\n   Master and man, in the forest green;\nAnd in the early morning tide\n   They of the foemen slew fifteen.\n\nThen they their backs together placed,\n   Where thick and high the bushes were;\nThey twain alone full thirty slew,\n   Acquiring honour ever fair.\n\nIt was the young Danneved,\n   To his side his trusty faulchion tied;\nAnd now they both so joyously\n   Home to his mother\u2019s castle ride.\n\nIt was the young Danneved,\n   Came riding to the Castellaye;\nIt was then his mother dear\n   Came out to meet him, blythe and gay.\n\n\u201cBe welcome, little Danneved,\n   Be welcome to this house of mine;\nWhat doth it please thee now to drink?\n   O, say, shall it be mead or wine?\u201d\n\n\u201cO, I will ne\u2019er break bread with you,\n   Or drink a drop of mead or wine,\n\u2019Till thou hast given the young Swayne Trost\n   Fair Ellen, only sister mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do thou hear, my dearest son,\n   Hear what I now declare to thee;\nAs God shall help me in my need,\n   Brothers of Ellen both ye be.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow do thou hear, my mother dear,\n   Thou\u2019st not to me the truth declar\u2019d;\nWhere didst thou bear the young Swayne Trost,\n   That of his birth I never heard?\u201d\n\n\u201cO he was but a little child,\n   When him from out the land I sent;\nAnd, hearing it said that he was dead,\n   To none I did my loss lament.\u201d\n\nThen up spoke little Danneved,\n   He was the son of a knight so high:\n\u201cNow I have such a brother found,\n   I never more will grieve or sigh.\n\n\u201cGod\u2019s blessing upon thee, young Swayne Trost,\n   To thee my troth I now will give;\nI\u2019ll ne\u2019er deceive thee, young Swayne Trost,\n   As long as I on earth shall live.\u201d\n\nLittle Danneved and young Swayne Trost,\n   In sables and mard themselves array;\nAnd both of them took so joyously\n   To the imperial Court their way.\n\n\n\n\nSIR PALL, SIR BEAR, AND SIR LIDEN.\n\n\nLiden he rode to the Ting, and shewed\n   His bloody gashes there:\n\u201cAnd these were done by no other one\n   But my dear brother Bear.\u201d\n\nWith humble air upstood Sir Bear,\n   And for leave to speak he cried:\n\u201cI\u2019ll give thee gold and silver to hold,\n   And my good broad lands beside.\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep thou thyself thy silver pelf,\n   And thy good broad lands for me;\nBy God I swear this little hand fair\n   Thy death, brother Bear, shall be.\u201d\n\nHome to their hall ride Bear and Pall.\n   With unsuspicious mind;\nIn wrathful mood, with five swains good,\n   Followed Liden close behind.\n\nSir Pall, and Sir Bear, and Sir Liden, three were,\n   And they met the boughs beneath:\n\u2019Twas sad to view how quick out-flew\n   Their faulchions from the sheath.\n\nFirst Pall he slew his brother true,\n   Then Bear to death he smote;\nI tell to ye for verity\n   His own death wound he got.\n\nThey took up with care Sir Pall and Sir Bear,\n   To the city them they bore;\nBeneath the skies in the greenwood lies\n   Sir Liden amid his gore.\n\nTo the earn and the owl and the beasts that prowl\n   Sir Liden\u2019s corpse they left;\nWhen that was said to his plighted maid\n   She died of sense bereft.\n\nHad he paid heed to his mother\u2019s rede,\n   And himself to the law address\u2019d,\nHis brothers twain had remained unslain,\n   And their feud had been laid at rest.\n\nIn piteous mode wept Mettelil proud,\n   The death of her three sons bold:\n\u201cWoe\u2019s me,\u201d cried she, \u201cThat e\u2019er my eyes\n   Should this sad hour behold.\u201d\n\nFor Pall she wept sore, and still, still more\n   For Bear the good and brave;\nBut most of all for Sir Liden\u2019s fall,\n   For he had no hallowed grave.\n\n\n\n\nBELARDO\u2019S WEDDING\n\n\nFrom the banks, in morning\u2019s beam,\nOf Xarama, famous stream;\nFrom the spot, or nigh it, where\nIt joins the Tagus broad and fair,\nSped Belardo, blithe and gay,\nTo receive the righteous pay\nOf all the years of love he\u2019d spent\nIn doubts, and fears, and discontent\u2014\n\n   _But happy the shepherd who finally gains_\n   _The beautiful prize of his manifold pains_.\n\nUnto her village now he goes\nThe handsome Philis to espouse;\nFor now her father, kind and bland,\nBut late so stern, yields him her hand.\nNow in his eyes the shepherd shows\nThe rapture in his breast that glows,\nThat after storm and hurricane\nThe heaven should look bright again.\n\n   _How happy the shepherd who finally gains_\n   _The beautiful prize of his manifold pains_.\n\nNot as of yore on foot, I trow,\nOr in albarcas goes he now;\nAlbarcas made of slain wolf hide,\nIn blood of cow or heifer dyed.\nO snow-white pointed shoes wore he,\nGreen stockings gartered at the knee;\nButton composed of burning glass,\nPresented, mind ye, by his lass.\n\n   _How happy the shepherd who finally gains_\n   _The beautiful prize of his manifold pains_.\n\nWhat a knight of gallant air\nRides he forth on sorrel mare;\nSaddle of Friezeland leather made,\nFringe of the most dainty thread.\nSombrero new, of neatest shape,\nMantle long with lengthy cape,\nSayo green, obscure to see,\nGraced with much embroidery.\n\n   _How happy the shepherd who finally gains_\n   _The beautiful prize of his labour and pains_.\n\nBy the guise in which he\u2019s drest,\nHis hopes are visibly exprest;\nHopes which so often damped and chilled\nAre on the point to be fulfilled.\nWithin his bosom he doth bear\nAll the billets of his dear;\nThey are so many bills which he\nIs bent to settle speedily.\n\n   _Happy the shepherd who finally gains_\n   _The beautiful prize of his manifold pains_.\n\nArriving at the house he saw,\nWaiting for him, his father-in-law,\nWho, good-bye to scoffs and slights,\nHolds his stirrup whilst he lights.\nLovely Philis at the door\nCalls him \u201chusband\u201d and \u201csenor;\u201d\nHe \u201csenora\u201d and \u201cdear wife\u201d\nCalleth her, they\u2019re one for life.\n\n   _Happy the shepherd who finally gains_\n   _The beautiful prize of his manifold pains_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE YEW TREE\n\n\nO tree of yew, which here I spy,\nBy Forida\u2019s famed monastery;\nBeneath thee lies, by cold death bound,\nThe tongue for sweetness once renown\u2019d.\n\nThou noble tree who shelterest kind,\nThe grave from winter\u2019s snow and wind,\nMay lightning never lay thee low,\nNor archer cut from thee his bow;\nNor Crispin peel thee, pegs to frame,\nBut may thou ever bloom the same;\nA noble tree the grave to guard\nOf Cambria\u2019s most illustrious bard!\n\n                                 LONDON:\n               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.\n                   _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n\n{5}  _Stevn_ and _Ting_.  Both words signify a tribunal before which\nlitigations were decided.","title":"Alf the Freebooter, Little Danneved and Swayne Trost, and Other Ballads","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2464}