{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26805/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26805","id":"gutenberg_26805","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26805","summary":null,"tags":["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                               LITTLE ENGEL\n                                 A BALLAD\n                             WITH A SERIES OF\n                        EPIGRAMS FROM THE PERSIAN\n\n\n                                    BY\n                              GEORGE BORROW\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                     PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION\n\n                                   1913\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE ENGEL.\n\n\nIt was the little Engel, he\n   So handsome was and gay;\nTo Upland rode he on a tide\n   And bore a maid away.\n\nIn ill hour he to Upland rode\n   And made a maid his prize;\nThe first night they together lay\n   Was down by Vesteryse.\n\nIt was the little Engel he\n   Awoke at black midnight,\nAnd straight begins his dream to state\n   In terror and affright.\n\n\u201cMethought the wolf-whelp and his dam,\n   The laidly she-wolf gray,\nTore out my heart, and twixt their teeth\n   Did hold it as I lay.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat thou dream\u2019st little Engel thus\n   Can cause slight wonderment,\nWhen me thou\u2019st ta\u2019en by might and main\n   Nor asked my friends\u2019 consent.\u201d\n\nIn came Solwey Johnsen then\n   And stood before the table;\nHe was I ween, a clever lad,\n   And well to speak was able.\n\n\u201cHear thou, my lord, Little Engel,\n   Rise up and straight begone;\nFor here Sir Godey Loumand comes\n   By four ways to the town.\u201d\n\n\u201cI fear not four, Solwey Johnsen,\n   Nor five fear I, nor ten!\nI fear not Godey Sir Loumand, though\n   He come with thirty men.\u201d\n\n\u201cO there are more than four, Sir,\n   Or five, Sir, or than ten;\nHere cometh Godey Sir Loumand with\n   A hundred armed men.\u201d\n\nIt was the little Engel, he\n   Took Malfred in his arm:\n\u201cNow, dearest heart, some counsel give\n   May free us from this harm.\u201d\n\nIt was the little Engel, her\n   Upon the white cheek kiss\u2019d:\n\u201cNow do thou hear, my bosom\u2019s dear,\n   With counsel us assist.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe best advice that I can give\n   I\u2019ll give thee in this case;\nTo Mary\u2019s Church we will retire,\n   They\u2019ll ne\u2019er destroy that place.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll gold and silver take, and on\n   The scale we\u2019ll pile them high;\nTo-morrow from the Churchmen we\n   The holy place will buy.\n\n\u201cAround you call your merry men all\n   To whom you\u2019ve given bread;\nFor refuge we to the Kirk will flee\n   Since we are thus bestead.\n\n\u201cDo you take all your merry men who\n   Your coursers\u2019 backs have prest;\nWe\u2019ll hie us to our Lady\u2019s church,\n   And set our hearts at rest.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the best counsel, love, I know,\n   A simple woman I;\nIn Mary\u2019s house we\u2019ll lock ourselves,\n   And there our foes defy.\u201d\n\nIt was the little Engel,\n   Into the church he went:\nSir Loumand to beleaguer him\n   A hundred men has sent.\n\nBefore the kirk his men they lay\n   Till full five months were past;\nIt was Godey Sir Loumand\n   So wrathful grew at last.\n\nThen spake the mother of little Malfred,\n   With hate \u2019gainst her was fill\u2019d:\n\u201cThe Kirk of Maria burn with fire,\n   And it with gold rebuild.\u201d\n\nThe fire began to burn, to burn,\n   The sparkles in they flew;\nAt that adread was little Malfred,\n   And ashy pale she grew.\n\nIt was so hot in the Kirk yard when\n   Abroad the blazes sped;\nBut in the Kirk still hotter when\n   In poured the melted lead.\n\nIt was the little Malfred,\n   So frantic was her mood:\n\u201cO let us quick the horses stick,\n   And cool us with their blood.\u201d\n\nThen little Engel answer made,\n   As on the floor he stood:\n\u201cBut coolness small shall we derive\n   From our good coursers\u2019 blood.\u201d\n\nAnswered the groom who loved the steeds\n   As dearly as his breath:\n\u201cYe\u2019d better little Malfred stick,\n   She well deserveth death.\u201d\n\nIt was the little Engel,\n   His arms round Malfred twin\u2019d:\n\u201cNo death hast thou deserved from us,\n   And none from us shalt find.\n\n\u201cMy little Malfred, do thou hear\n   What I now say to thee;\nIf a son this year thou chance to bear,\n   That son name after me.\u201d\n\nThey placed her on a buckler,\n   They placed their spears below,\nAnd through the window lifted her\n   With hearts so full of woe.\n\nIt was the little Malfred round\n   The church goes staggering now,\nScorched were her scarlet robes, and scorched\n   The ringlets on her brow.\n\nIt was the little Malfred fell\n   Upon her white bare knee:\n\u201cO may I bear a son this year,\n   The avenger of this to be.\u201d\n\nSo they the little Malfred took\n   And in a mantle roll\u2019d,\nAnd sorrowfully lifted her\n   Upon a courser bold.\n\nOutspake the little Malfred when\n   She reached the verdant plain:\n\u201cBurnt is our Lady\u2019s house this day,\n   And burnt so bold a swain.\n\n\u201cBurnt is our Lady\u2019s house, and burnt\n   Therein so brave a swain;\nHis equal till the day of doom\n   We ne\u2019er shall see again.\u201d\n\nIt happened in the autumn tide,\n   The autumn of that year,\nThat she within her secret bower,\n   A beauteous boy did bear.\n\nTo the holy Kirk they carried him,\n   They christened him at night;\nThey called him little Engel, and\n   Concealed him whilst they might.\n\nThey fostered him for winter one,\n   And so on, till he grew\nThe fairest knight beneath the sun\n   That you did ever view.\n\nSo well he grew and throve until\n   Seven years had passed away:\n\u201cThy uncle slew thy sire, my boy,\n   For the first time, that I say.\u201d\n\nStill with his mother he remained\n   Till five more years were sped:\n\u201cThy uncle slew thy father, boy,\u201d\n   He heard most often said.\n\n\u201cNow do thou hear, my mother dear,\n   Who sittest clad in pall;\nUp under Oe I\u2019ll riding go,\n   And serve in the Monarch\u2019s hall.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, ride thee hence to Court, and there\n   To win thee honor try;\nForget not who thy father slew,\n   For the last time I cry.\u201d\n\nHe served so long at court that he\n   His friend the Dane King made;\nWith heavy heart he\u2019d sit apart\n   Whilst others laugh\u2019d and play\u2019d.\n\nThe Danish King observed at last\n   He grieved at seasons all:\n\u201cNow hear, good youth, I\u2019d know forsooth\n   Why thou art sorrow\u2019s thrall.\n\n\u201cThou grievest like the little bird\n   The greenwood bough upon;\nThou seemest like the lonely wight\n   Whose friends are dead and gone.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow do thou hear, thou King of the Danes,\n   With grief I down am weigh\u2019d;\nMy uncle slew my sire of old,\n   And no atonement made.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf thou wilt up of the country ride,\n   And well avenge that deed,\nAs many of my men to thee\n   I\u2019ll lend, as thou shalt need.\n\n\u201cIf thou\u2019lt avenge thy father\u2019s death,\n   Thou shalt have fitting aid;\nThree hundred of my men to thee\n   I\u2019ll lend, in steel array\u2019d.\u201d\n\nIt was the little Engel, he\n   Rides in the greenwood shade;\nHe marshals there his good men all,\n   And sets him at their head.\n\nIn haste came in the little footboy,\n   And stood before the table;\nHe was I ween a clever lad,\n   And well to speak was able.\n\n\u201cNow hear, Sir Godey Loumand, hear,\n   Arise and straight begone;\nLittle Engel\u2019s coming with his troop\n   By four ways to the town.\n\n\u201cLittle Engel\u2019s coming with his troop,\n   And he\u2019ll be on us soon;\nAnd wroth is he, as wroth can be,\n   His war-lance scrapes the moon.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt Stevn and Ting, my boy, I\u2019ve been,\n   And wherever people mingle;\nBut ne\u2019er, I swear, have I been where\n   I\u2019ve heard of little Engel.\u201d\n\nIt was Godey Sir Loumand,\n   He stroked the page\u2019s cheek;\n\u201cIf thou canst give any good advice,\n   My pretty footboy, speak.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I can give any good advice\n   Most certainly I will;\nIn your stone bower yourself immure\n   From the approaching ill.\n\n\u201cThe walls they are of marble stone,\n   The doors they are of lead;\n\u2019Twill wondrous be, my lord, if we\n   Therein are prisoners made.\u201d\n\nIt was the little Engel, he\n   Halted a while to gaze:\n\u201cO there doth lie the Kirk, where died\n   My sire in smoke and blaze.\n\n\u201cAnd there doth stand the castle, where\n   My uncle doth reside;\nThe amends that he shall pay this day\n   The Lord in heaven decide.\u201d\n\nBy four ways they the bower beset,\n   And for admission call:\nThe little Engel, sprightly elf,\n   Was foremost of them all.\n\nIt was Godey Sir Loumand, through\n   The casement out looked he:\n\u201cNow hark, ye knaves, bid your captain tell\n   Why ye bawl so furiously?\u201d\n\nThen answered little Engel straight\n   Beneath his mantle ruddy:\n\u201cEngel he\u2019s stiled, your sister\u2019s child,\n   And I am he, Sir Godey.\u201d\n\nThen answered Godey Sir Loumand, he\n   Was surely wroth thereat:\n\u201cRide hence, and boast not of thy birth,\n   Thou art a bastard brat.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd though a bastard brat I be,\n   My fortune\u2019s not the worse;\nEnough I hold of silver and gold,\n   And ride on a gallant horse.\n\n\u201cAnd if a bastard brat I be,\n   Thou mad\u2019st me that I trow;\nBut still I\u2019ve towers, and pleasant bowers,\n   And of green woods enow.\n\n\u201cMy sire thou slew\u2019st, and no amends\n   To me didst ever make;\nNow scoff thou hast upon me cast,\n   For which thy life I\u2019ll take.\n\n\u201cBring gold, my merry men, and that\n   Before the threshold lay;\nWe\u2019ll burn the bower this very hour,\n   We well for it can pay.\u201d\n\n\u2019Twas hot within the foreroom when\n   The fire began to roar;\nBut hotter in the stone bower, when\n   The lead began to pour.\n\nIt was the little Engel, he\n   His courser never turned\nTo ride away from the castelaye\n   Before the bower was burned.\n\nAway at last he rode, and waved\n   His hand in exultation,\nUpon espying his uncle lying\n   Amidst the conflagration.\n\nSaid little Engel, when he saw\n   His uncle\u2019s body shrink:\n\u201cNow thou hast quaffed the self same draught\n   Thou mad\u2019st my father drink.\u201d\n\nIt was the little Engel, rode\n   Home to his mother\u2019s hall;\nBefore it stood his mother good,\n   So fair arrayed in pall.\n\n\u201cHere dost thou stand, my mother dear,\n   Arrayed in robes of pall;\nI\u2019ve ridden up the land, and well\n   Avenged my father\u2019s fall.\u201d\n\nIt was the fair Dame Malfred, wrung\n   Her hands and wept amain:\n\u201cI\u2019d but one care before to bear,\n   And now, alas, have twain!\u201d\n\n\u201cDear mother, thou wouldst have it so,\n   Now thee in tears I find,\nWhen duteously thy will I\u2019ve done:\n   How strange is woman\u2019s mind!\u201d\n\nHe turned his steed and rode away,\n   His face with anger red;\nWith dishevelled hair, the Dame stood there,\n   Such woeful tears she shed.\n\nThe little Engel hied him to\n   The King his master\u2019s court;\nAbroad the Dane King stood, and hailed\n   The youth in kindest sort.\n\nInto the hall Sir Engel then\n   With the good monarch went:\n\u201cMy choicest thanks, thou noble King,\n   For thy brave warriors lent.\n\n\u201cNow I\u2019ve avenged my father\u2019s death,\n   Burnt is Sir Godey\u2019s bower;\nAnd he therein has found a tomb,\n   Who slew my sire of yore.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nAN ELEGY.\n\n\nWhere shall I rest my hapless head,\n   Heavy with grief? how plenteously\nMust I the briny torrents shed\u2014\n   _Alack and woe is me_!\n\nOur chief is gone, at last, at last,\n   The safeguard of our nation he;\nThe glory of our age is past\u2014\n   _Alack and woe is me_!\n\nUnto the swords, O father dear,\n   Of foemen thirsting horribly\nFor blood, why leave thy children here?\n   _Alack and woe is me_!\n\nOf justice is the fountain dried,\n   And mute the law\u2019s high symphony;\nFallen is Europa\u2019s brightest pride\u2014\n   _Alack and woe is me_.\n\nThere is a change of times and things\n   That passeth on eternally.\nDecreed by Him, the King of Kings\u2014\n   _\u2019Tis right_\u2014_but woe is me_!\n\nNow is the earth with violets gay,\n   And flowers manifold to see;\nNow frozen \u2019neath the winter\u2019s sway\u2014\n   _How brief the roses be_!\n\nNow shews the sun his head of gold\n   With a superior brilliancy;\nNow hides as were he dead and cold\u2014\n   _Alack and woe is me_.\n\nO father! I will lave thy tomb\n   With tear-drops well becoming me;\nThy tomb with flowery herbs perfume\u2014\n   _How brief the roses be_!\n\n\n\n\nEPIGRAMS.\n_From the Persian_.\n\n\n1.\n\n\nHear what once the pigmy clever\n   To the stupid giant said:\nThings are not of highest value\n   Which do highest rear their head;\nThe sluggish horse is nothing better\n   Than the donkey lowest bred.\n\n\n\n2.\n\n\nThe man who of his words is sparing\n   His strength and weakness hidden keeps;\nThink not every thicket empty,\n   Perchance in one a tiger sleeps.\n\n\n\n3.\n\n\nIf thou would\u2019st ruin \u2019scape, and blackest woe,\n   Unto these words, these precious words attend:\nNever be heedless of a mortal foe,\n   Nor choose a proud and envious man for friend.\n\n\n\n4.\n\n\nSit down with your friends in delightful repose\n   When war and contention you see \u2019midst your foes;\nBut when to an end their contentions they bring,\n   Then, then seize the bow, and get ready the sling.\n\n\n\n5.\n\n\nThe hungry hound upon the bone will pounce\n   He prowling finds, and not mistrustful pass;\nHe asks not whom it did belong to once,\n   The prophet\u2019s camel or the sinner\u2019s ass.\n\n\n\n6.\n\n\nGreat Aaroun is dead, and is nothing, the man\n   Who left forty castles replete with gold store;\nBut living though dead is the great Nourshwan,\n   In the good name he left he has death triumphed o\u2019er.\n\n\n\n7.\n\n\nThough God provides our daily bread,\n   Yet all must seek that bread I ween;\nThough all must die, there is no need\n   To rush the dragon\u2019s jaws between.\n\n\n\n8.\nTHE KING AND HIS FOLLOWERS.\n\n\nIf in the boor\u2019s garden the King eats a pear,\nHis servants rapacious the tree will uptear;\nFor every five eggs he gives bounteously, more\nThan five hundred fowls will his armies devour.\n\n\n\n9.\nTHE DEVOUT MAN AND THE TYRANT.\n\n\nIf the half of a loaf the devout man receives,\nThe half of that half to the wretched he gives;\nBut no sooner a tyrant one kingdom has ta\u2019en,\nThan the wish of his heart is another to gain.\n\n\n\n10.\nTHE CAT AND THE BEGGAR.\n\n\nIf a cat could the power of flying enjoy,\nShe all the world\u2019s sparrows would quickly destroy;\nIf power in the hands of a beggar you place,\nNo mercy he\u2019ll show to the beggarly race.\n\n\n\n11.\nTHE KING AND TAYLOR.\n\n\nThe taylor who travels in far foreign lands,\nCan always get bread by the work of his hands;\nBut the King who from throne and from country has fled,\nMust oft without supper go sighing to bed.\n\n\n\n12.\nGOLD COIN AND STAMPED LEATHER.\n\n\nOf the children of wisdom how like is the face\nTo pure gold that\u2019s accepted in every place;\nBut the ignorant great are much like leather cash,\nAt home which though current, abroad is but trash.\n\n\n\n13.\n\n\nSo much like a friend with your foe ever deal,\nThat you never need dread the least scratch from his steel;\nBut ne\u2019er with your friend deal so much like a foe,\nThat you ever must dread from his faulchion a blow.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.\n\n                   _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_.","title":"Little Engel: a ballad; with a series of epigrams from the Persian","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2476}