{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26831/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26831","id":"gutenberg_26831","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26831","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                                MARSK STIG\n\n\n                                 A BALLAD\n\n                                    BY\n                              GEORGE BORROW\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                     PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION\n\n                                   1913\n\n\n\n\nMARSK STIG\nA BALLAD\n\n\nPART I.\n\n\nMarsk Stig he out of the country rode\n   To win him fame with his good bright sword;\nAt home meantide the King will bide\n   In hope to lure his heart\u2019s ador\u2019d.\n\nThe King sends word to the Marshal Stig\n   That he to the fields of war should fare;\nHimself will deign at home to remain\n   And take the charge of his Lady fair.\n\nIn came the Marshal\u2019s serving man,\n   And a kirtle of green that man he wore:\n\u201cOf our good liege the little foot-page\n   Is standing out the gate before.\u201d\n\nUp stood the young Sir Marshal Stig,\n   By the side of his bed his clothes put on;\nAnd to speak the boy, the King\u2019s envoy,\n   Down to the gate is the Marshal gone.\n\n\u201cNow hear thou, Marsk Stig Andersen,\n   \u2019Tis truth and sooth what I say to thee;\nThou must away to the King\u2019s palay,\n   Then mount thy horse and follow with me.\n\n\u201cOh, I know nought of my Lord King\u2019s thought\n   That I to thee can now declare,\nExcept that thou to the war must go\n   And there thy sovereign\u2019s banner bear.\u201d\n\nThen in at the door Sir Marsk Stig trode,\n   And a wrathful man I trow was he:\n\u201cBy the Saints I swear, my Lady dear,\n   Fulfill\u2019d my dreary dream will be.\n\n\u201cFor of late I dream\u2019d that my noble horse\n   To chase the wild mare ran away;\nAnd that must mean that I shall be slain,\n   And that my steed will tramp on my life-less clay.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow hold thy tongue, my noble Lord,\n   And do not talk thus foolishly,\nFor Christ can protect thy life, reflect,\n   The blessed Christ who dwells on high.\u201d\n\nIt was the young and bold Marsk Stig\n   Came riding into the Castle yard,\nAbroad did stand the King of the land\n   So fair array\u2019d in sable and mard.\n\n\u201cNow lend an ear, young Marshal Stig,\n   I have for thee a fair emprise,\nRide thou this year to the war, and bear\n   My flag amongst my enemies.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd if I shall fare to the war this year,\n   And risk my life among thy foes,\nDo thou take care of my Lady dear,\n   Of Ingeborg that beauteous rose.\u201d\n\nThen answer\u2019d Erik, the youthful King,\n   With a laugh in his sleeve thus answer\u2019d he:\n\u201cNo more I swear has thy lady to fear\n   Than if my sister dear were she.\n\n\u201cFull well I\u2019ll watch Dame Ingeborg,\n   And guard and cherish her night and day;\nAs little I swear has thy Lady to fear\n   As if thou, dear Marshal, at home didst stay.\u201d\n\nIt was then the bold Sir Marshal Stig,\n   From out of the country he did depart.\nIn her castle sate his lonely mate,\n   Fair Ingeborg, with grief at heart.\n\n\u201cNow saddle my steed,\u201d cried Eric the King,\n   \u201cNow saddle my steed,\u201d King Eric cried,\n\u201cTo visit the Dame of beauteous fame\n   Your King will into the country ride.\u201d\n\n\u201cHail, hail to thee, Dame Ingeborg,\n   If thou wilt not be coy and cold,\nA shirt, I trow, for me thou\u2019lt sew,\n   And array that shirt so fair with gold.\u201d\n\n\u201cSew\u2019d I for thee a shirt, Sir King,\n   And worked that shirt, Sir King, with gold,\nShould Marsk Stig hear of that he\u2019d ne\u2019er\n   With favour again his wife behold.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow list, now list, Dame Ingeborg,\n   Thou art, I swear, a beauteous star,\nLive thou with me in love and glee,\n   Whilst Marshal Stig is engag\u2019d in war.\u201d\n\nThen up and spake Dame Ingeborg,\n   For nought was she but a virtuous wife:\n\u201cRather, I say, than Stig betray,\n   Sir King, I\u2019d gladly lose my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cGive ear, thou proud Dame Ingeborg,\n   If thou my leman and love will be,\nEach finger fair of thy hand shall bear\n   A ring of gold so red of blee.\u201d\n\n\u201cMarsk Stig has given gold rings to me,\n   And pearls around my neck to string;\nBy the Saints above I never will prove\n   Untrue to the Marshal\u2019s couch, Sir King.\n\n\u201cAnd when Sir Marsk Stig left the land\n   Thou unto him, Sir King, didst swear\nThou wouldst tend me and defend me\n   E\u2019en as if I your sister were.\u201d\n\nIt was the fair Dame Ingeborg,\n   So great, so great was her vexation;\nEarly and late, sunshine and wet,\n   The King he sought her habitation.\n\nIt was Erik the Danish King,\n   A damnable deed the King he wrought;\nHe forc\u2019d with might that Lady bright,\n   Whilst her good Lord his battles fought.\n\nIt was the young Sir Marshal Stig\n   Came home again from the battle field.\nTo him then sped such tidings dread,\n   His very blood those tidings chill\u2019d.\n\nAnd when he came to his country home,\n   Away to his castle Sir Stig he rode;\nThen Ingeborg Dame for very shame\n   No word of welcome on him bestow\u2019d.\n\nIt was the young and bold Marsk Stig,\n   So swiftly in at the door he hies;\nHis beauteous dame for very shame\n   To welcome the Marshal could not rise.\n\nAnd long stood he, the young Marsk Stig,\n   And thus within himself thought he;\n\u201cNow wherefore shows my beauteous spouse\n   No more respect or love for me?\u201d\n\nThen answer\u2019d fair Dame Ingeborg,\n   Whilst tears adown her features pour\u2019d:\n\u201cWelcome, I say, from the battle fray,\n   Marsk Stig my bosom\u2019s dearest lord.\n\n\u201cNow do thou hear, young Marshal Stig,\n   Of a dreadful wrong I must complain,\nThe King accurst has my body forc\u2019d\n   And my matron honour from me has ta\u2019en.\n\n\u201cWhen thou didst leave the land, I was\n   The honour\u2019d Dame of a simple knight;\nNow am I Queen in Denmark green,\n   With a stain that makes me hate the light.\n\n\u201cThe time that thou from the land didst go,\n   I was but the wife of a Noble brave;\nNow am I Queen in Denmark green,\n   Longing to hide me in the grave.\u201d\n\nIt was then the young Marsk Stig\n   He grasp\u2019d amain his dagger knife:\n\u201cIf truth it be that thou tellest me,\n   \u2019Twill cost the traitor King his life.\n\n\u201cNever will I sweet sleep enjoy,\n   Lock\u2019d in thy snowy arms, my fair,\nTill ruin I bring on the traitor King\n   Who laid for us this deadly snare.\n\n\u201cAnd never, never, O Ingeborg,\n   By thy snowy side again I\u2019ll lie,\nTill I out-pour the reeking gore\n   Of him who has wrought this injury.\u201d\n\nLong, long stood the bold Marsk Stig,\n   Musing with look so stern and grave:\n\u201cIf on the King I\u2019d avenge this thing,\n   Notice from me he must quickly have.\u201d\n\nMarsk Stig he arms his courtiers good,\n   Arms them in hauberks glittering,\nAnd he rides on the morrow to Skanderborough\n   To summon King Erik to the Ting.\n\nIt was the Danish Queen so fine\n   From the window high a glance she cast:\n\u201cAcross the wold comes Marsk Stig bold,\n   Why rides the Marshal Stig so fast?\n\n\u201cAnd yonder prances the Marshal Stig,\n   And hither from Sonderbrook rides he;\nEach plumy swain in his galloping train\n   Is like a bonny grey dow to see.\u201d\n\nIt was the young and bold Marsk Stig,\n   So stately stepped the threshold o\u2019er;\nThe Danish Queen so sharp and keen\n   She straight began to scoff him sore.\n\n\u201cThrice welcome, thrice welcome, Dus Van Hus,\n   Welcome, thrice welcome again, I cry;\nThou bear\u2019st the brow like a King, I trow,\n   Yet little good thou wilt gain thereby.\u201d\n\n\u201cMadam! my name is not Dus Van Hus,\n   How dar\u2019st thou beard me in this strain,\nWhen I know one, Black Haddingson,\n   Who oft, full oft, on thy breast has lain?\n\n\u201cGain I no other recompense here\n   Than scoff and scorn from a thing like thee,\nBefore the crowd I\u2019ll complain aloud\n   Of the wrong and injury done to me.\n\n\u201cFirst I will state my injuries great,\n   Which man nor woman cannot deny;\nAnd unless I\u2019m given amends, by heaven\n   Another game will the Marshal try.\u201d\n\n\n\nPART II.\n\n\nMarsk Stig he woke at black midnight,\n   And loudly cried to his Lady dear:\n\u201cO dreamed have I so wondrously,\n   God read what I\u2019ve been dreaming here!\n\n\u201cI dream\u2019d my ship, my tall, tall ship,\n   To a boat did dwindle suddenly;\nIts mast was gone, it helm had none,\n   Full soon it sank in the briny sea.\n\n\u201cI dream\u2019d that each of my little pups\n   Was become at once a savage boar;\nThrough my garden wall they broke, and all\n   My pleasant herbs and roots uptore.\n\n\u201cAnd I dream\u2019d as I and my courtiers good\n   Were riding over the bridge so wide,\nMy trusty horse with sudden force\n   Flung me, and into the forest hied.\u201d\n\nThen answer\u2019d proud Dame Ingeborg,\n   Straight answer\u2019d she her dear lord thus:\n\u201cTo God alone in heaven is known,\n   My Lord, how it will fare with us.\n\n\u201cLie thou and rest, my noble Lord,\n   And from thy thought the vision fling;\nIt means no doubt our vassals stout\n   Their rent and tribute soon will bring.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so, not so, it means, I trow,\n   Although thou tell\u2019st me that, my love,\nIt means the King at our country\u2019s Ting,\n   Too much for me and my cause will prove.\u201d\n\nMarsk Stig he arms seven hundred men,\n   Each one in iron panoply;\nAnd away he scowers to Viborg\u2019s towers\n   The traitor monarch to defy.\n\nAnd at their head young Marsk Stig sped,\n   And in his heart he felt so bold;\nBehind him rode his courtiers proud,\n   Their breast-plates beaming bright with gold.\n\nIt was the young Sir Marshal Stig\n   Stepp\u2019d proudly in at the lofty door;\nAnd bold knights then, and bold knights\u2019 men,\n   Stood up the Marshal Stig before.\n\nSo up to the Ting of the land he goes,\n   And straight to make his plaint began;\nThen murmured loud the assembled crowd,\n   And clench\u2019d his fist each honest man.\n\n\u201cYe good men hear a tale of fear,\n   A tale of horror, a tale of hell;\nA rape upon my wife\u2019s been done,\n   With frantic grief the tale I tell.\u201d\n\nThen up did spring the Danish King,\n   And proffer\u2019d to Stig his fair white hand:\n\u201cI joy thou art come, Sir Marsk Stig, home\n   Safe from the fray in the foreign land.\u201d\n\nThen answer\u2019d him the Marshal Stig,\n   His heart was fill\u2019d with grief and rage:\n\u201cAnd trouble and cost I more than lost\n   When forth I went the fight to wage.\n\n\u201cTo the field of war I went afar,\n   And for thy realm I risk\u2019d my life;\nBut thou didst stay and, welladay,\n   Didst foully force my virtuous wife.\u201d\n\nThen answer\u2019d him the youthful King,\n   As sly he laughed his cap below:\n\u201cThe Lady\u2019s yes and willingness\n   Were ready as mine own I trow.\u201d\n\nThen answer made the young Marsk Stig,\n   With a darkling brow and kindling eye:\n\u201c\u2019Tis a saying true and an old one too\n   That insult follows injury.\n\n\u201cThou\u2019st forc\u2019d my housewife, and hast brought\n   Distress and shame upon our head;\nBut know one thing, my gracious King,\n   Thy life to Stig is forfeited.\u201d\n\nThen as he turn\u2019d him from the Ting\n   He doff\u2019d his hat with knightly pride;\n\u201cYe good men here in memory bear\n   I have the traitor King defied.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow do thou hear, Sir Marsk Stig dear,\n   Cease, cease such frantic talk to hold;\nAnd I\u2019ll bestow on thee enow\n   Of castles, land, and ruddy gold.\n\n\u201cEight castles fair, the best that are\n   In all the land where dwells the Dane,\nMay well atone for what is done,\n   Receive them and my friend remain.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not care for your castles fair,\n   Castles enow I have already,\nI wish undone the deed upon\n   The body of my virtuous Lady.\u201d\n\n\u201cMarsk Stig! Marsk Stig! ride not so high,\n   I hope to guard myself, proud Earl!\nAlthough thou be my enemy,\n   I trust I run no mighty peril.\u201d\n\n\u201cHowever high, Sir King, I ride,\n   Thou lov\u2019st to play a higher part;\nHast thou ne\u2019er heard the olden word\n   That power must often yield to art?\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not so mighty nor so strong\n   That I can hope to bar thy way,\nBut oft I\u2019ve seen a greyhound keen\n   Alone the antler\u2019d monarch slay.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not at the head of so many swords,\n   That I can check thee when thou wouldst pass;\nBut a little lever, if us\u2019d but clever,\n   Can overturn a weighty mass.\u201d\n\nThen away rode he the young Marsk Stig,\n   To Ingeborga\u2019s bower repairing:\n\u201cNow welcome thrice, Marsk Stig,\u201d she cries,\n   \u201cI\u2019ve heard of Marsk Stig\u2019s manly bearing.\n\n\u201cFear not the King nor all his might,\n   Of courage high he has no spark;\nThroughout the state he\u2019s won the hate\n   Of every layman, priest, and clerk.\n\n\u201cI have a loving nephew got\n   Who waits the traitor King upon;\nHe\u2019ll be our spy, and privily\n   Will send us word when the King\u2019s alone.\n\n\u201cAnd when ye\u2019ve slain the brutal pard\n   Who in drink and slumber finds delight,\nBy ye will stand of Norway land\n   The King so bold with his men of might.\n\n\u201cIf thou on Helm a fortress build\n   It ne\u2019er can be won by human hands,\nFrom its brow so high you may Sealand spy,\n   Jutland, and other lesser lands.\n\n\u201cWhilst thou dost live thou a knight shalt be,\n   But my grief for me is far too strong;\nSo blythe my breath I\u2019ll yield to death\n   When Marshal Stig has aveng\u2019d my wrong.\n\n\u201cI ne\u2019er have peace nor gladness known\n   Since tyrant Glepping\u2019s deed of force;\nMay Jesus bless with good success\n   My gallant Stig in his gallant course.\n\n\u201cAnd bless our daughters\u2019 youthful blood,\n   Oft, full oft on their fate I ponder;\nMuch I fear when I\u2019m gone from here,\n   Far and wide they\u2019ll have to wander.\n\n\u201cAn action high shall never die,\n   Whatever dastard lips may say;\n\u2019Twill wake up bold from out the mould\n   And boldly speak on the judgment day.\n\n\u201cThen speed thee, knight, with thee is right,\n   Avenge the heart which loves thee dear;\nOn earthly shore though we meet no more,\n   We shall meet again in the sky so clear.\u201d\n\n\n\nPART III.\n\n\nThere\u2019s many I ween in Denmark green\n   Who all to be masters now desire;\nTo Ribe old their course they hold,\n   And there they buy them strange attire.\n\nThere they prepare such clothes as wear\n   The holy Monks of orders grey,\nAnd this they\u2019ve done in the hope alone\n   Their liege and sovereign to betray.\n\nThey watch\u2019d him sly, they watch\u2019d him nigh,\n   Whether the King went down or up;\nBut best they sped, in the hour so dread,\n   When the King would ride to Tinderup.\n\nThe cause of the same was an injur\u2019d Dame,\n   Bold Stig the Marshal\u2019s lovely wife;\nWith Ranild a plot she up has got\n   Which cost King Erik his youthful life.\n\nRanild the loon, her sister\u2019s son,\n   Ranild who serv\u2019d King Erik near,\nTells him with art of hind and hart,\n   And of silvan game to the hunter dear.\n\n\u201cTo thee I can show both buck and doe\n   Within the bonny green wood that play;\nWith greyhounds tried we forth will ride,\n   Sir King, not distant is the way.\u201d\n\nThen Erik he bade his serving lad\n   To saddle him straight his good grey steed;\n\u201cTo Jutland\u2019s Ting will ride your King,\n   And see how things in Jutland speed.\u201d\n\nAnd he order gave to his courtiers brave\n   That they should before to Viborg hie;\nNo thought he had that Ranild the lad\n   Was brooding a subtle treachery.\n\nBut Ranild rode by a secret road,\n   And he bade the Monks themselves prepare;\nI tell to ye for a verity\n   That Ranild practis\u2019d cunning rare.\n\nNow after the hart and hind they start,\n   And after the nimble roe as well;\nThe long day\u2019s space endur\u2019d the chase,\n   Till murky night upon them fell.\n\nThen in faultering guise the King he cries,\n   For his heart I ween was full of dread:\n\u201cGod help us now, and Saint Gertrude thou,\n   We fairly out of the path have sped.\u201d\n\nThen about he spied and about he pried,\n   Amid the bushes so dark and drear,\nTill sight he got of a little cot\n   Where fire and light were burning clear.\n\nAnd into that house King Erik goes,\n   His luck the Monarch there will try;\nAnd he was aware of a damsel fair,\n   No fairer ever had met his eye.\n\nAnd her to his breast the King he press\u2019d,\n   And kiss\u2019d her oft with fond delight:\n\u201cMy lovely may, I beg and pray\n   That thou wilt sleep with me this night.\u201d\n\nThen answer\u2019d and said the woodland maid,\n   With a burst of laughter wild and loud:\n\u201cIn mind I keep how thou didst sleep\n   With Ingeborga fair and proud.\n\n\u201cAnswer, I pray, and fairly say,\n   How many maids hast thou, Sir King,\nDeserted and left of fame bereft?\n   For that will death upon thee bring.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf that thou know, fair maid, I trow\n   That thou canst tell much more to me;\nNow tiding give how long I shall live,\n   And say how many my foemen be.\u201d\n\nWith solemn air said the maiden fair,\n   \u201cHark thou to me and believe my word;\nFor life thou must look to the little crook,\n   Whereon doth hang thy trusty sword.\n\n\u201cThe knobs on thy belt of tough, tough felt,\n   The foeman\u2019s number will tell I ween;\nBeware, I say, of Monk hoods grey\n   Concealing warriors stern and keen.\u201d\n\nTo catch the maid the King essay\u2019d,\n   His heart was bent yet more on learning;\nThen slipped away the woodland fay,\n   Suddenly into vapour turning.\n\nAs long as stay\u2019d with him the maid\n   Both light and fire his sight did cheer,\nBut as soon, as soon as she was gone\n   With Ranild he stood in the bush so drear.\n\nThen the King for advice to Ranild cries,\n   And Ranild the traitor answer\u2019d thus:\n\u201cFrom out this place our way we\u2019ll trace,\n   For here no moon can shine on us.\n\n\u201cIf I be right, a hamlet hight\n   Grey Tinderup not far doth lie;\nThis night we\u2019d best in Tinderup rest,\n   My liege, I think for a certainty.\n\n\u201cAnd thither we\u2019ll ride, and there we\u2019ll bide,\n   Until the moon has risen on high;\nBy Mary\u2019s might no mortal wight\n   Will do thee any injury.\u201d\n\nSo they ride away to Tinderup grey,\n   And loud for lodging, lodging shout;\nBut they came so late that every gate\n   Was lock\u2019d, and fires and lights put out.\n\nThen their steeds they turn to Tinderup barn,\n   No mortal knew that they were there;\nTo the King I wot the thought came not\n   That he was now to his end so near.\n\nBut Erik\u2019s breast was not at rest,\n   And thus to Ranild the lad he cried:\n\u201cO make the door both fast and sure,\n   I fast and sure in thee confide.\n\n\u201cDo thou the door with a stake secure,\n   I\u2019ve ever found thee faithful yet;\nIn mind I hold that Stig is bold,\n   And oft I think upon his threat.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve driven a pin the floor within,\n   And plac\u2019d a balk against the door;\nBy Mary bright no mortal wight\n   To move that mighty balk has power.\n\n\u201cMarsk Stig is hot, I deny it not,\n   And wondrous words he thunders out;\nBut be of good cheer my master dear,\n   He o\u2019er his table sits no doubt.\n\n\u201cThe lapwing bird each spot can guard\n   Upon the face of the verdant field,\nExcept alone the knoll whereon\n   Its nest the bird is wont to build.\u201d\n\nNo pin or stake did Ranild take,\n   He was I wean a lying cheat;\nI tell to ye, for a verity,\n   He only took two straws of wheat.\n\nAnd for all his talk \u2019twas no thick balk\n   He plac\u2019d for the door\u2019s security,\nBut a wheat-sheaf light which the gust of night\n   From the door removed instantly.\n\nScarce on the groun\u2019 had they laid them down,\n   On the groun\u2019 of the barn so cold and hard,\nWhen of Ingeborg Dame the avengers came,\n   Spurring amain to the peasant\u2019s gard.\n\nInto the yard came riding hard\n   The fatal monks of orders grey;\nNo pause they made, to the place they sped\n   Where well they knew that the Monarch lay.\n\nUpon the door their blows they shower,\n   With faulchion struck they and with spear;\n\u201cCome out, come out, Sir King,\u201d they shout,\n   \u201cThe Dame has sent to greet thee here.\u201d\n\nTo them in reply did Ranild cry,\n   And thus the Ranild youth began:\n\u201cNo King is here, no King is near,\n   No King nor any such a man.\u201d\n\nThen swift and fast Sir Ranild cast\n   Over his Lord both straw and hay,\nBut points with his hand to the in-rushing band\n   The spot where the hapless Monarch lay.\n\nThey extinguish\u2019d straight the wax light great\n   That burn\u2019d the head of the Monarch o\u2019er;\nThen round the King they stood in a ring,\n   With blades athirst for his dearest gore.\n\n\u201cO Ranild hear, my servant dear,\n   If thou wilt only fight for me,\nMy sister bright to thee I\u2019ll plight,\n   And she thy wedded wife shall be.\u201d\n\nThen he hew\u2019d for his Lord on the broad, broad board,\n   And on the balk he hew\u2019d so brave;\nHe hew\u2019d hither, and he hew\u2019d thither\u2014\n   He fought for his master like a knave.\n\nFull in the breast their stabs they address\u2019d,\n   As near to the heart as well might be;\nWith wounds so sore, forty and more,\n   Miserably murder\u2019d the King was he.\n\nAt him they bored with spear and sword,\n   No rest to him the Monks allow\u2019d;\nWhen done was the deed each took his steed,\n   And away with frantic fury rode.\n\nThis happ\u2019d on the night of Cecily bright,\n   The season it was so bright and holy.\nThe King is dead, his blood is shed,\n   But Ingeborg still is melancholy.\n\n\u201cNow who will bear to Viborg fair\n   The corpse of the King across the green?\nAnd who will go with the tale of woe\n   To Skanderborough where sits the Queen?\u201d\n\nThen ride would none to Viborg town,\n   And attend the corse across the green;\nBut rose up amain a little swain,\n   And he would ride to the Danish Queen.\n\nUprose amain the little swain,\n   And not long idle I ween he stay\u2019d;\nHe tore from the grey the saddle away,\n   And that on the back of the white he laid.\n\n\u201cHail gracious Queen so fair of mien,\n   Who sittest clad in scarlet red;\nA traitorous train the King have slain,\n   In Tinderup barn he lieth dead.\n\n\u201cThey stabbed him with might in his bosom white,\n   Their points came out of his royal side;\nTake thou good care of the youthful heir,\n   Who Denmark\u2019s realm is doomed to guide.\n\n\u201cTake heed, take heed of the land I rede,\n   And of this royal Castelaye;\n\u2019Bove every thing of the youthful King,\n   Who in after time shall Denmark sway.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou little lad thy tale is sad,\n   And it fills my heart with grief and pain;\nBut thee I\u2019ll prize for thy advice,\n   And clothe and feed thee whilst I reign.\u201d\n\nIt happ\u2019d on the night of Cecily bright,\n   In that sweet season blest and holy,\nVengeance has sped, the King is dead\u2014\n   But Ingeborg still is melancholy.\n\n\n\nPART IV.\n\n\nThere were seven and seven times twenty\n   That met upon the verdant wold:\n\u201cSay, what emprise shall we devise\n   Now Denmark\u2019s Lord is stark and cold?\n\n\u201cOur Lord we\u2019ve slain, a corse he lies,\n   The band of peace we thus have riven;\nWithin the land we can make no stand,\n   From land and friends we now are driven.\n\n\u201cBut we will ride to Skanderborg,\n   And a visit to the Queen will pay,\nWe\u2019ll see how fares amid her cares\n   The Dame ere we depart for aye.\n\n\u201cIt was her wont to jeer and scoff,\n   But now therewith she must have done;\nThe fire is come to the scorner\u2019s home,\n   And pity her I ween can none.\u201d\n\nMarsk Stig he into the saddle sprang,\n   For his daring deed he felt no sorrow;\nHe spurr\u2019d his horse and bent his course,\n   With his armed host to Skanderborough.\n\nIt was the Danish Queen so fine,\n   She look\u2019d from out the window high:\n\u201cO there doth ride Marsk Stig,\u201d she cried,\n   \u201cWith his knight in iron panoply.\n\n\u201cHa, welcome, Stig, thou self-made King,\n   May\u2019st quickly meet the guerdon due;\nIf God doth spare the youthful heir,\n   Full bitter fruit he\u2019ll make thee chew.\u201d\n\n\u201cLady, I am no self-made King,\n   Although it please thee so to say;\nBut I can name the knight of fame\n   Who last with thee, fair lady, lay.\n\n\u201cLittle thou mind\u2019st King Erik\u2019s death,\n   But briny tears thou soon wouldst shed,\nIf thou hadst lost the gallant Drost,\n   Who\u2019s wont at night to share thy bed.\u201d\n\n\u201cO shame upon the murderers foul\n   Who basely slew my lord and joy;\nAnd shame befall both thee and all\n   My Queenly honour would destroy.\u201d\n\nThen up spoke Erik Erikson,\n   The little King who was standing by:\n\u201cWhen I\u2019m up-grown and bear the crown\n   Full quickly thou shalt Denmark fly.\u201d\n\nThen up stood little Christopher,\n   And courage sparkled in his eye:\n\u201cTo hang them all were vengeance small\n   For my dear father\u2019s injury.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd if the land I\u2019m forc\u2019d to quit,\n   And upon the chilly billows lie,\nI\u2019ll work revenge and havoc strange,\n   And mostly \u2019mong the great and high.\n\n\u201cAnd if from hence I\u2019m forc\u2019d to go,\n   And outlaw\u2019d live in cave and wood,\nFrom Denmark\u2019s land with spear and brand\n   Summer and Yule I\u2019ll fetch me food.\u201d\n\nThen away from Skanderborg he rode,\n   And his fist he shook against the towers;\nAnd with his troop to Molderup,\n   To seek his Ingeborg, he scours.\n\nIt was the young Sir Marshal Stig,\n   He took his wife in his embrace;\n\u201cNow lieth slain the cursed bane\n   Of all our love and happiness.\n\n\u201cNow wilt thou brave stern poverty,\n   And follow bold a man exil\u2019d?\nOr wilt thou stay, and every day\n   Be harlot, Erik\u2019s harlot, styl\u2019d?\u201d\n\n\u201cO could I even Queen become\n   The hated name I would not bear;\nMy thanks, the best of this poor breast,\n   For slaying him the ravisher.\n\n\u201cBut we are allied to Counts and Knights,\n   And mighty men of high degree,\nSo do not fear the little heir,\n   Nor for a child the country flee.\n\n\u201cCount Jacob of Halland, and Peter Pors,\n   Bluefod and Kagg, at any hour\nWill back our cause, and sturdy Claus,\n   The Halland\u2019sfar, and many more.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s Erik King of Norroway,\n   To him your knightly hand extend,\nFor he a host and fleet can boast,\n   And host and fleet he\u2019ll gladly lend.\n\n\u201cIf thou upon the peak of Helm\n   But build a castle strong and fast,\nThou need\u2019st not quail for arrowy hail,\n   Nor dread the engine\u2019s deadly cast.\n\n\u201cAnd now for long, long winters nine\n   I\u2019ve hid my care within my breast;\nA worm gnaws sore my bosom\u2019s core,\n   Good night, my Lord! I sink to rest.\u201d\n\nMarsk Stig he took her in his arm,\n   \u201cThe high God lengthen yet thy day!\nOur best advice is now to prize\n   The hoary rocks of Norroway.\u201d\n\nMarsk Stig he speeds, to Helm proceeds,\n   And soon inclos\u2019d a fitting space;\nI tell to ye for verity,\n   Before him palen\u2019d many a face.\n\nMarsk Stig he builds on Helm a keep,\n   With massive walls and towers high;\nHis raging foes besiege it close,\n   Germans and Danes, but vainly try.\n\nOut into the field the peasant goes,\n   And there the peasant sows his corn:\n\u201cO God of might, what wondrous sight\n   The Helm, the Helm has got a horn!\n\n\u201cO welladay on the poor boors grey,\n   When Stig the Marshal\u2019s bed was stain\u2019d;\nFor us I ween it had better been\n   If Glepping had unborn remain\u2019d.\n\n\u201cWhene\u2019er within the good green wood\n   The oaks so mighty chance to fall,\nThey crush to the ground the hazels round,\n   And all the other trees so small.\n\n\u201cThe sins of Kings and noblemen\n   Upon the poor fall heavily;\nGod look with grace on the peasant\u2019s case,\n   And relieve him from his misery!\u201d\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.\n\n                   _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_.","title":"Marsk Stig: a ballad","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":4702}