{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26833/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26833","id":"gutenberg_26833","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26833","summary":null,"tags":["Ballads","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                              NIELS EBBESEN\n                                   AND\n                           GERMAND GLADENSWAYNE\n\n\n                               TWO BALLADS\n\n                                    BY\n                              GEORGE BORROW\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                     PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION\n                                   1913\n\n               _Copyright in the United States of America_\n           _by Houghton_, _Mifflin & Co. for Clement Shorter_.\n\n\n\n\nNIELS EBBESEN.\n\n\nAll his men the Count collects,\n   And from Slesvig marched away;\nNever such as host was seen\n   Or before or since that day.\n\nInto Denmark marched the Count,\n   Followed by so fair a band;\nBanners twenty-four they bore,\n   Power like theirs might none withstand.\n\nGert the Count to Randers rode,\n   To bad counsel lending ear;\nFor from old it stood foretold,\n   He should end there his career.\n\nHe would not the place avoid,\n   But seemed bent to tempt his fate;\nOf the rural lords and thanes\n   He the quarters up will beat.\n\nKnights and freeborn men apart,\n   There trooped eighteen thousand bows;\nForty thousand made they all,\n   Who could such a host oppose?\n\nTo Niels Ebbesen the Count\n   Word to appear before him sent;\nAnd safe convoy him he gave,\n   Which should doubt and fear prevent.\n\nGert the Count met Ebbesen\n   North of Randers by the sea:\n\u201cWelcome be, Niels Ebbesen!\n   Say how matters stand with thee.\u201d\n\nTo Niels stretched the Count his hand,\n   And to parleying straight they go;\nThere was little then of jest,\n   And of dallying less, I trow.\n\n\u201cSir Niels Ebbesen, thou art\n   Welcome as the flowers in spring;\nHow stand minds in North Jutland,\n   Thence what tidings dost thou bring?\n\n\u201cSay how all thy wealthy friends\n   And thy heart\u2019s loved lady are;\nWhich dost wish for at my hands,\n   Smiling peace, or bloody war?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell stand minds in North Jutland,\n   Each man\u2019s courage there\u2019s erect;\nSay, dost come as friend or foe?\n   What from thee may we expect?\n\n\u201cI have kindred in the North,\n   Men of wealth and noble race;\nShouldst thou it require of them\n   They\u2019ll be ready for thy Grace.\u201d\n\n\u201cWise art thou, Niels Ebbesen,\n   And thy prudence none can doubt;\nWhen thou canst not straightway hit\n   Widely then thou ridst about.\n\n\u201cHear thou, Sir Niels Ebbesen,\n   Thou must on mine errand ride;\nSay, how many men thou hast\n   Brought, on whom thou mayst confide?\u201d\n\n\u201cKindred, Sir, I have, and friends,\n   \u2019Mongst the hardy Jutlanders;\nWillingly they follow me\n   To the stormy strife of spears.\n\n\u201cI have brought, such as they are,\n   With me thirty mounted men;\nBe they fewer, or be they more,\n   Dear are they to Ebbesen.\u201d\n\n\u201cHast thou with thee thirty lads?\n   That seems but a scanty force;\nYester e\u2019en at Sir Bugge\u2019s Gate\n   Stood\u2019st thou with a hundred horse.\u201d\n\nBackward Ebbesen recoiled,\n   And with high flushed cheek replied:\n\u201cHe nor knight nor gentleman\n   Is, who me hath thus belied.\n\n\u201cBe it man or woman who\n   To my face dares that to say,\nTill I\u2019ve answered suitably,\n   Ne\u2019er from him I\u2019ll flinch away.\u201d\n\n\u201cHear thou, dear Niels Ebbesen,\n   We thereof will talk no more;\nTo thy friend Sir Bugge ride,\n   Him to serve me true win o\u2019er.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf your errand I shall do,\n   And to Bugge bold repair,\nFrom thy part what I\u2019m to say\n   First to me thou must declare.\u201d\n\n\u201cBugge bold has me defied,\n   Young Poul Glob has done the same;\nAnders Frost makes one of them,\n   Him your Chief \u2019tis said ye name.\n\n\u201cAnd e\u2019en thou, Niels Ebbesen,\n   Certain courtiers hast with thee,\nWho have eaten of my bread,\n   And have basely quitted me.\n\n\u201cFirst there is young Eske Frost,\n   And his stalwart brothers two;\nWithout leave of mine obtained,\n   From my service they withdrew.\n\n\u201cMore there are whom I\u2019ve obliged,\n   And who pay me now no heed;\nIf to Bugge\u2019s rede you list\n   Soon ye\u2019ll see how you will speed.\u201d\n\n\u201cNought of Bugge\u2019s rede I know,\n   What he\u2019ll do or leave undone;\nEske thy true servant was,\n   Cast no blame that knight upon.\n\n\u201cEske Frost\u2019s a gallant man,\n   Guards his honour like his eye;\nSought he his discharge to gain,\n   Why to him didst it deny?\n\n\u201cCustom \u2019tis in Danish land,\n   And has been from days of eld,\nThat the man who will not serve\n   Shall not be to serve compell\u2019d.\n\n\u201cNo two things, save Monk and cowl,\n   Are for aye together tied;\nAs they loathe or like their place\n   Courtmen ride away or bide.\u201d\n\nIt was Count Sir Gert, could not\n   Such like reasoning understand:\n\u201cNo one ought to quit his lord\n   Whilst that lord would him command.\n\n\u201cAnd, Sir Niels, too long thou hast\n   Here stood idly chattering;\nEither thou shalt Denmark quit,\n   Or thou shalt on gallows swing.\n\n\u201c\u2019Neath safe convoy since thou\u2019rt come\n   Thou shalt go withouten hurt;\nTo thy cost else thou should\u2019st learn\n   What it is to anger Gert.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thy princely passport hold,\n   Whether it avail or not;\nIf thou do me aught of harm,\n   Infamy thy name will blot.\n\n\u201cThieves mayst thou on gallows hang,\n   To be torn by carn and crow;\nFor thy threat from native land,\n   Wife, and child, I will not go.\n\n\u201cBut if me from native land\n   And my wife and babes you chase,\nThou shalt soon, for certainty,\n   Rue thou e\u2019er hast seen my face!\u201d\n\n\u201cRide away, Sir Ebbesen,\n   Quickly hence thyself betake,\nOr I will, as well I can,\n   On thy skull the helmet break.\u201d\n\n\u201cNone e\u2019er saw me so adread\n   But that I could tremble still, {12}\nHear, Count Gert! look to thyself,\n   Guard thee from approaching ill.\u201d\n\n\u201cEbbesen, thou tirest me,\n   Suffering thus thy tongue to run;\nTill to-morrow thou art safe,\n   Even till the set of sun.\n\n\u201cThis, and the next day till eve,\n   Thou for me shalt be at rest;\nBut no belted knight am I\n   If I be not soon thy guest.\u201d\n\nSwift away rode Ebbesen,\n   Shook his iron-gloved fist in air:\n\u201cThat I soon shall come again,\n   Good Sir Count, in memory bear.\u201d\n\nForward rode Niels Ebbesen,\n   Spurred his steed till blood outflew;\nWith his men the Count remained,\n   No one dared the knight pursue.\n\nTill he reached his Castellaye,\n   Still he rode withouten rest;\nTo his dear Dame he complained,\n   Begged of her her counsel best.\n\n\u201cHere thou sitt\u2019st, dear Housewife mine,\n   What advice canst thou bestow?\nGert will drive me from the land,\n   Hath declared himself my foe.\n\n\u201cTo my choice three things he put,\n   Least of all I liked the third;\nI should join him, or the land\n   Quit, or hang, such was his word.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! what counsel can I give\n   From my simple woman\u2019s mind?\nThe most desperate counsel\u2019s best,\n   Can we but that counsel find.\n\n\u201cThe most desperate counsel\u2019s best,\n   If we can but it discover;\nEither slay the tyrant, or\n   Burn the house the tyrant over.\n\n\u201cTo the smithy lead your steeds,\n   Let them all be shod anew;\nTurn ye all the heels afore,\n   Thus your trace will cheat the view.\n\n\u201cTurn ye all the heels afore,\n   Track ye thus, I ween, can no man;\nNever tell to mortal wight,\n   Thou hast learnt this from a woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cHere my gallant swains ye sit,\n   Merry-making o\u2019er your drink;\nEvery lad who loves his lord\n   From his lord now must not shrink.\u201d\n\nUp then rose the Courtmen bold,\n   To take on anew agreed;\nSave Sir Niels\u2019 sister\u2019s son,\n   From his uncle would recede.\n\nSwore the knights a solemn oath\n   That for him their lives they\u2019d stake,\nAnd with him would dauntless ride\n   Wheresoe\u2019er a fray he\u2019d make.\n\nSo they rode to Fruerlund,\n   From their steeds they there dismount;\nInto Randers then they walked,\n   To beat up the hairless Count.\n\nIt was Sir Niels Ebbesen,\n   To the bridge of Randers came:\n\u201cHe who\u2019s loath to follow me\n   Straightway his discharge may claim.\u201d\n\nForward stepped the tiny Frost,\n   Thought the truest of the true:\n\u201cGive me my dismissal, Sir,\n   Give me horse and saddle too.\u201d\n\nSo he sought and got discharge,\n   Saddle got and steed withall;\nBut he served his master best\n   That same day ere evening fall.\n\nTo the Count\u2019s door rode Sir Niels,\n   Ne\u2019er from that withdrew his look;\nThrice thereon with iron lance\n   Heavily the hero strook.\n\n\u201cRise up from thy sleep, my lord!\n   Let me in right speedily;\nThy dear brother, Henrik Count,\n   Has dispatched me unto thee.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy my brother if thou\u2019rt sent,\n   Rest thee from thy journey long;\nMe to-morrow in the Kirk\n   Meet \u2019twixt mass and matin song.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet your page but at the door\n   Take from me the entrusted scroll;\nRibe hard invested is,\n   Colding town is burnt to coal.\n\n\u201cRibe hard invested is,\n   Colding\u2019s burnt, and Vedel\u2019s flung\nOpen to our troops its gate,\n   And Niels Ebbesen is hung.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf what thou hast told be truth,\n   News it is to make one gay;\nThou shalt in respect be held\n   Herald till thy dying day.\n\n\u201cPage! no more keep fast the door,\n   Let me on the herald gaze;\nFor that we the land have won\n   Is the sum of what he says.\u201d\n\nTo the window went the Count,\n   Thence his eye the lances caught:\n\u201cHa! Niels Ebbesen\u2019s at hand,\n   Curse the hour I Denmark sought.\u201d\n\nFierce with shields the doors they banged,\n   Burst the locks with frequent blow:\n\u201cHairless Count! art thou within?\n   Hairless Count, we pledge thee now!\u201d\n\n\u201cSet thee down, Niels Ebbesen,\n   We shall things accommodate;\nLet us send to Henrik Count,\n   And Claus Krummedige straight.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so yesterday didst thou\n   Speak, Sir Count, by Randers strand;\nThen thou saidst that I should hang,\n   Or should quit my native land.\u201d\n\nUp and spoke the Count\u2019s footpage,\n   Kinsman he to Ebbesen:\n\u201cBy his words if ye be fooled\n   Lost art thou and all thy men.\u201d\n\nUp and spoke the black young page,\n   Black because he was not white:\n\u201cStraight desist from useless talk,\n   Let, I rede, your faulchions bite.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve no castles, Sir, which can\n   Such a prisoner long contain;\nNow, ye men, spare not your swords!\n   Hew at him with might and main!\u201d\n\nSo the tyrant Count they took,\n   Made him kneel upon the floor;\nAnd his bald head off they hewed,\n   Hewed it off the bedstead o\u2019er.\n\nSoon as they the Count had slain,\n   Loud the drums the alarum beat;\nIt was Sir Niels Ebbesen\n   From the town would fain retreat.\n\nFrom the town he hasted then,\n   Dared no longer there to stay;\nSoon met him Sir Ove Hals,\n   And essayed to bar his way.\n\n\u201cDo thou hear, Sir Ove Hals!\n   Do to me no injury!\nThou my faithful cousin art,\n   Prythee, Ove, let me flee.\u201d\n\n\u201cOur affinity I know\n   Well I know its near degree;\nBut my Lord you\u2019ve foully slain,\n   Niels! I will not let thee flee.\u201d\n\nBleat the sheep, the ganders hiss,\n   Crows the cock upon the wall;\nOve Hals was sore beset,\n   Must to the Holsteiners call.\n\n\u2019Gainst the Danes he could not stand,\n   Must to the Holsteiners call;\n\u201cMurdered is your liege the Count\n   Up, and on his butchers fall!\u201d\n\nFight Sir Ove and Sir Niels,\n   Ebbesen he would not fly,\nHe Sir Ove\u2019s head smote off,\n   Left the corse in blood to lie.\n\nEbbesen to Randers bridge\n   Came, there grew the combat hot,\nThere he found the tiny Frost\n   Who had late dismissal got.\n\nNiels sped over Randers bridge,\n   Holstein\u2019s men came thronging after;\nWhat did then the tiny Frost\n   But the bridge drop in the water.\n\nThanks to Niels\u2019s sister\u2019s son,\n   Well he served his uncle then;\nIn the firth the planks he cast,\n   No bridge found the Holstein men.\n\nNiels a widow visited,\n   She\u2019d but barley bannocks two,\nOne she gave to Niels, because\n   He the hairless tyrant slew.\n\nEbbesen!  God sain thy soul,\n   Never was a braver Dane;\nThou didst free thy fatherland\n   From a foreign tyrant\u2019s chain.\n\nChrist bless every gallant man,\n   Who shall both with mouth and hand,\nIn the time of its distress,\n   Seek to serve his fatherland!\n\n\n\n\nGERMAND GLADENSWAYNE\n\n\nOur King and Queen sat o\u2019er the board\n   In high festivity;\nBetween them there was much discourse\n   About the briny sea.\n\nOur gallant King and youthful Queen\n   They sailed across the foam;\nMuch better had it been for both\n   That they had stayed at home.\n\nBut barely they a mile had gone\n   When still the vessel stood,\nThere came a raven wild, who strove,\n   To sink them in the flood.\n\n\u201cIf any thing the ship doth hold\n   Concealed beneath the main,\nI\u2019ll give thee, bird, a lump of gold\n   To set it free again.\n\n\u201cO do not sink us in the sea,\n   Swart bird,\u201d exclaimed the Queen,\n\u201cAnd I\u2019ll give thee a lump of gold\n   Weighs Bismer pounds fifteen.\u201d\n\n\u201cGold and silver I heed them not,\n   I crave another fee,\nThe treasure neath thy girdle fair\n   Thou now must promise me.\n\n\u201cPlenty of gold I have myself,\n   From gold no help you\u2019ll find,\nOn what beneath your girdle\u2019s hid\n   I\u2019ve firmly set my mind.\u201d\n\n\u201cI give what neath my girdle\u2019s hid,\n   My bunch of keys\u2014what more?\nI\u2019ll speedily have others forged\n   If I but win to shore.\u201d\n\nThen straight she took the little keys\n   And cast them overboard;\nAway then flew the Raven, glad\n   He had obtained her word.\n\nThe Queen walks on the yellow sand,\n   Then o\u2019er her came a gloom,\nShe felt that Germand Gladenswayne\n   Was quick within her womb.\n\nAnd from that day when five short months\n   Her head had flitted o\u2019er,\nThe Queen she went to the chamber high,\n   And a lovely son she bore.\n\nBorn was he in the evening hour,\n   They christened him at night;\nThey called him Germand Gladenswayne,\n   Concealed him whilst they might.\n\nThey fostered him a winter\u2019s space,\n   They fostered him for nine;\nThe fairest youth he grew on whom\n   The sun did ever shine.\n\nSo well he throve, so well he grew,\n   His horse he well could ride,\nWhene\u2019er his mother on him gazed\n   So woefully she sigh\u2019d.\n\n\u201cNow list to me, my mother dear,\n   One thing I fain would know;\nWhy dost thou sigh so piteously\n   Whene\u2019er I past thee go?\u201d\n\n\u201cNow hear thou, Germand Gladenswayne,\n   I\u2019ve cause to be forlorn;\nBeguiled I gave thee to a fiend\n   Before thou yet wast born.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do thou hear, my mother dear,\n   All sorrow cast aside:\nWhatever be the will of God\n   By that I must abide.\u201d\n\nIt chanced upon a harvest morn\n   The breezes scarcely stirr\u2019d,\nThat as the chamber door stood ope\n   So wild a yell was heard.\n\nIn came the laidly bird of prey,\n   And stood the Queen before:\n\u201cDost thou remember, gracious Queen,\n   Thy gift to me of yore?\u201d\n\nShe swore by God, and by the saints,\n   By all that\u2019s good she swore,\nThat son nor daughter in the world\n   She never, never bore.\n\nThen flew away the bird of prey,\n   With an eldritch shriek he\u2019s flown:\n\u201cWhene\u2019er I meet Germand Gladenswayne\n   I\u2019ll remember he\u2019s my own.\u201d\n\nWhen Germand fifteen years had reached\n   He\u2019d fain a damsel wed;\nHe loved the daughter of England\u2019s king,\n   The angel-lovely maid.\n\nHis longing to be with his plighted maid\n   He might no more withstand:\n\u201cO how shall I come across the foam\n   To the flood-encircled land?\u201d\n\nIt was Germand Gladenswayne,\n   He donned his best array;\nAnd he has ta\u2019en to his mother dear\n   To the lofty hall his way.\n\nIn came Germand Gladenswayne,\n   In scarlet clad was he:\n\u201cO mother lend me thy feather robe\n   To fly across the sea.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy feather robe hangs upon the crook,\n   The feathers droop so low,\nIf thou dost fly to the foreign land\n   I shall see thee never moe.\n\n\u201cThe pinions are so broad that they\n   Grow heavy in the air,\nI\u2019ll have another made for me\n   If I live another year.\u201d\n\nHe set himself in the feather robe,\n   Flew o\u2019er the ocean straight;\nAnd there met him the raven wild,\n   Beneath a rock did wait.\n\nHe flew up, and he flew down,\n   He flew in fearless guise;\nAnd when he reached the midst of the sea\n   He heard a frightful voice.\n\n\u201cHa, well met, Germand Gladenswayne,\n   O\u2019er long hast thou delay\u2019d;\nThou wast but little when to me\n   A present thou wast made!\u201d\n\n\u201cO let me fare, O let me fly,\n   To speak my maiden dear;\nBe sure that I, when her I\u2019ve seen,\n   Again will meet thee here.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I will let thee fly, but still\n   My mark on thee will set,\nLest thou midst knights and beauteous dames\n   Thy raven lord forget.\u201d\n\nThen out the boy\u2019s right eye he tore,\n   And drank up half his blood;\nBut still he reached the bower of his bride,\n   His heart was yet so good.\n\nHe set himself by the Damsels\u2019 bower,\n   All bloody and distrest;\nAll the dames within that were\n   Forgot to smile and jest.\n\nAll the damsels grew so still,\n   With horror sat they fast;\nExcept proud Damsel Adelude,\n   Aside her work she cast.\n\nAll the maids within forsook\n   Both jest and merry note;\n\u2019Twas the proud Damsel Adelude\n   Her hands together smote.\n\n\u201cNow welcome, Germand Gladenswayne,\n   Where hast thou been to play?\nSay, why bebloodied are thy clothes,\n   And pale thy cheeks as clay?\u201d\n\n\u201cFarewell, dear Damsel Adelude,\n   I soon from thee must fly;\nFor he must have my youthful life\n   Who tore from me my eye.\u201d\n\nHer silver handled comb she took,\n   And strove to comb his head;\nFor every hair that she did comb\n   A briny tear she shed.\n\nFor every lock the maiden combed\n   A stream of tears did run;\nHow often she the mother cursed\n   Who had betrayed her son.\n\nIt was Damsel Adelude,\n   She took him in her arm:\n\u201cAccursed be the wicked Dame\n   Who caused us all this harm.\u201d\n\n\u201cHear thou, sweet Damsel Adelude,\n   Curse not my mother so,\nShe had no power in this affair,\n   We all to fate must bow.\u201d\n\nHe set him in his feather robe,\n   And mounted on the wind;\nShe set her in another robe,\n   And followed fast behind.\n\n\u201cO turn thee, Damsel Adelude,\n   Turn my beloved one,\nThy bower door doth open stand,\n   Thy keys lie on the stone.\u201d\n\n\u201cThough my bower door doth open stand,\n   And my keys lie on the stone,\nYet I will follow thee to the place\n   Where harm to thee was done.\u201d\n\nAll the birds she cut so small\n   She met with there on high,\nExcept the laidly Raven wild,\n   And him she could not spy.\n\n\u2019Twas the proud Damsel Adelude\n   Flew down towards the strand;\nNought found she of the Gladenswayne\n   Except the good right hand.\n\nShe flew so wroth the clouds below\n   The laidly bird to find;\nShe flew East, and she flew West,\n   To slay him she designed.\n\nShe hacked the birds into pieces three,\n   Before her knife that came;\nBut when she met the Raven wild\n   Into ten she hacked his frame.\n\nAnd still till she of sorrow died\n   She flew across the heath;\nIt was for Germand Gladenswayne\n   She suffered grief and death.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.\n\n                   _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n\n{12}  A common Danish expression denoting contempt for threat.","title":"Niels Ebbesen, and Germand Gladenswayne: Two Ballads","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":3158}