{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_27396/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_27396","id":"gutenberg_27396","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27396","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.  Many thanks to Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library,\nUK, for kindly supplying the images from which this transcription was\nmade.\n\n\n\n\n\n                              PROUD SIGNILD\n                                   AND\n                              OTHER BALLADS\n\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\nPROUD SIGNILD.\n\n\nProud Signild's bold brothers have taken her hand,\nThey've wedded her into a far distant land.\n\nThey've wedded her far from her own native land,\nTo her father's foul murderer gave they her hand.\n\nAnd so for eight winters the matter it stood,\nTheir face for eight winters she never once view'd.\n\nProud Signild she brews, and the ruddy wine blends;\nTo her brothers so courteous a bidding she sends.\n\nSir Loumor then laughed to his heart's very core--\nNot once had he laughed for eight winters before.\n\nTo the top of the castle proud Signild she goes,\nAnd thence she so many a wistful look throws.\n\nAnd now she perceives down the green hillock's side\nHer seven bold brothers so furiously ride.\n\nProud Signild she stands on the castle's high peak,\nShe hears in the courtyard her seven brothers speak.\n\nProud Signild she hastes her array to put on,\nAnd unto the hall to Sir Loumor she's gone.\n\n\"Now hear thou, Sir Loumor, thou lord, great and fine,\n\"Wilt welcome these seven bold brothers of mine?\"\n\n\"I'll welcome these seven bold brothers of thine,\nProud Signild, as if they were brothers of mine.\"\n\nSir Loumor again a wild laughter outsent,\nAnd the hard marble wall by that laughter was rent.\n\nThen outspake the child in the cradle that lay,\nNo word had the child ever spoke till that day:\n\n\"It shows that no good is about to take place,\nWhen my father he laughs in my dear mother's face.\"\n\nWith his foot he the cradle has spurned with such force\nThat out rolled the baby, a blood-besprent corse.\n\nSo matters passed on 'till of evening the fall,\nTo the evening repast the relations went all.\n\nSir Loumor her lord she placed at the board's head,\nTo the stools at the bottom her brothers she led.\n\nTo Sir Loumor she handed the stout ruddy wine,\nTo her brothers she only sweet milk will assign.\n\nSir Loumor pretended to drink deep and fast,\nBut in secret the wine down beneath him he cast.\n\nProud Signild now to the bed chamber wends,\nAnd the bed she prepares for her dear-beloved friends.\n\nThe bed she outspreads on the hard rugged stone,\nAnd that to prevent them from sleeping was done.\n\nAnd under their sides she placed slily their knives,\nWhich well they might trust in defence of their lives.\n\nShe also has placed underneath their bed heads\nTheir actons of steel, and their keen naked blades.\n\n'Twas late, late at night, and the lights were burnt low,\nAnd away to their couches it lists them to go.\n\nNo sooner proud Signild had sunk to repose,\nThan from her white side dread Sir Loumor arose.\n\nTo the hall, the dark hall, took Sir Loumor his way,\nProud Signild's seven brothers intending to slay.\n\nTo the side of the bed upon tip toe he drew,\nAnd the seven bold brothers he traitorously slew.\n\nIn his fell hand uptakes he both faulchion and knife,\nAnd each of the sleepers deprived he of life.\n\nIn a bowl he collects of the murdered the gore,\nAnd that he brings in the proud Signild before.\n\nIn, in at the door-way Sir Loumor he sped,\nFrom Signild's cheek faded the beautiful red.\n\n\"Sir Loumor, my lord, thy looks fill me with fright,\nSay where hast thou been in the midst of the night?\"\n\n\"I've been to the hall, if the truth I must tell,\nI heard my two hunting hawks screech there, and yell.\"\n\n\"O why of thy hawks art thou talking, my lord?\nMay God in his mercy my dears brothers guard.\"\n\nSir Loumor produced of her brothers the gore,\nAnd that by her foot he has placed on the floor.\n\n\"Now drink thou, proud Signild, my much beloved Dame,\nThis blood from the veins of thy brothers that came.\"\n\n\"With a terrible thirst I must needs be distrest,\nWhen I, O Sir Loumor, obey thy behest.\n\n\"But to bed and to sleep, my dear lord, now repair,\nFull little, be sure for my brothers I care.\n\n\"I care not although all my kindred are slain,\nSince thee, my heart's dearest, alive I retain.\"\n\nSo things in this fashion for eight winters stood,\nAnd Sir Loumor his brothers and sisters ne'er view'd.\n\nSir Loumor he brews, and the ruddy wine blends,\nTo his brothers and sisters a bidding he sends.\n\nThen laughed the proud Signild, that dame fair of face,\nAnd the first time it was for full eight winters space.\n\nSir Loumor's relations she placed at the board,\nAnd she handed them mead with so many a fair word.\n\nOf the wine, the clear wine, drank Sir Loumor so free,\nFor his life not the slightest precaution took he.\n\nOn the soft down she spread their beds high from the ground,\nShe wished to procure for them slumbers so sound.\n\nShe spread out their beds on the bolsters of blue,\nThereon with her fingers the sleep runes she drew.\n\nNo sooner Sir Loumor had sunk to repose,\nThan from his embrace the proud Signild arose.\n\nFrom out of a corner she took a keen sword,\nShe'll awake with its point the dear kin of her lord.\n\nTo the sleeping apartment proud Signild then sped,\nAnd straightway his five belov'd brothers slew dead.\n\nThough her heart it was sad, and the tears in her eyes,\nHis three belov'd sisters she slew in like guise.\n\nThen swift in a bowl she collects the red gore,\nAnd that she brought in good Sir Loumor before.\n\nShe took off the chaplet her brow from around,\nAnd firmly the hands of Sir Loumor she bound.\n\n\"Now wake thou, Sir Loumor, and speak to thy wife,\nI'll not, whilst thou sleepest, deprive thee of life.\n\n\"Now drink, O Sir Loumor, the kind and the good,\nDrink, drink thy dear brothers' and sisters' heart's blood.\"\n\n\"O sore would the thirst be, O Signild, full sore,\nThat ever could tempt me to drink of that gore.\n\n\"Thyself to thy bed, my sweet Signild, betake,\nFor the death of my kindred my heart will not break.\"\n\nSir Loumor sought after his trusty brown brand,\nAnd found to his fear he was bound foot and hand.\n\n\"O Signild, proud Signild, I pray thee now spare,\nAnd aye to be kind to thee, Signild, I swear.\"\n\n\"Methinks that thou didst little kindness display,\nThe time thou my father didst murderously slay!\n\n\"Thou slewest my father with treacherous glaive,\nAnd then my dear brothers, so beauteous and brave.\n\n\"Then hope not for mercy, on vengeance I'm bent,\nBecause all I cherished from me thou hast rent.\"\n\nThen she drew forth the knife from her sleeve bloody red,\nAnd Sir Loumor she stabbed till the life from him fled.\n\nThen out from its cradle the little child spake:\n\"That deed, if I live, I will some day ywrake.\"\n\n\"I know that thou art of the very same blood,\nAnd I never expect thou to me wilt be good.\"\n\nThe child by the small of the leg she has ta'en,\nAnd against the bed side she has beat out its brain.\n\n\"Now I, the proud Signild, have slain man for man,\nAnd I'll hie me away to my land and my clan.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE DAMSEL OF THE WOOD\n\n\nThe Knight takes hawk, and the man takes hound,\n   And away to the good green-wood they rambled;\nThere beasts both great and small they found,\n   Amid the forest glades that gambol'd.\n\nA hind 'neath a linden tree he spied,\n   A maid beneath the willows sitting;\nThe Knight outspread his mantle wide,\n   Within that spot for love so fitting.\n\nAnd there throughout the night they lie,\n   And no one sought their rest to trouble;\nThe linden tree so charmingly\n   Conceals them with its foliage noble.\n\nNo sooner dawned the morning light,\n   And early cocks commenced their crowing,\nThe Damsel pats on his breast the knight:\n   \"Sweet love, you must be up and going.\n\n\"Ride o'er the brig at full career,\n   And o'er the verdant meadows hurry;\nMy brothers seven you'll meet I fear,\n   So full of courage, strength, and fury.\"\n\n\"If seven or ten thy brothers be,\n   Each full of courage, strength, and beauty,\nIf a comrade good they seek in me\n   I trust I know a comrade's duty.\n\n\"And if me they'll have as a brother dear,\n   Their brother straight to be I'm willing;\nBut they shall win the victory ne'er\n   If bent my youthful blood on spilling.\"\n\n\"O dearest heart, with tears I pray\n   That thou wilt not go lightly nigh them,\nBut ride about another way,\n   Far distant off thou may'st descry them.\"\n\n\"O ne'er at court shall it be said\n   That I, a knight, for warriors seven,\nOr ten times seven, the straight road fled,\n   To match them all I trust in heaven.\"\n\nHis sword to his side the warrior tied,\n   And then himself in his acton casing,\nA fond adieu to the Damsel cried,\n   Who sadly stood behind him gazing.\n\nThe youth despising all alarms\n   With spur so keen his courser urges,\nSeven knights he meets in burnished arms\n   From out the wood as he emerges.\n\n\"Ha, early met, thou warrior good,\n   Pray tell us what thou hast been doing!\"\n\"O I have been to the good green-wood,\n   With hound and hawk the deer pursuing.\"\n\n\"Where is thy hawk and greyhound, say?\n   Thy silvan spoil, we pray thee show it.\"\n\"A good friend came across my way,\n   And on that friend I did bestow it.\"\n\n\"No knight will part with his prey so light\n   For which in wood he's toiled and panted;\nWith a maiden bright you slept last night,\n   Her brothers' leave nor sought nor granted.\"\n\n\"To chase the dun deer, Sirs, I rode,\n   Full little of your sister knowing,\nThe first fair deer itself that showed\n   I chased with heart and bosom glowing.\n\n\"It crouched beneath my scarlet cloak,\n   It pleased me, Sirs, beyond all measure;\nWith thanks to heaven the gift I took,\n   And made me happy with my treasure.\n\n\"I let my hounds the wild deer chase,\n   I thought but little of their capture;\nBut I took the hind to my embrace,\n   What moments then of bliss and rapture.\n\n\"Of all the world's fair maids was she\n   The fairest both in face and carriage;\nIf she, Sir Knights, your sister be,\n   I beg your sister's hand in marriage.\n\n\"A faithful brother I will be,\n   And in your cause I death will suffer;\nAnd her I'll hold in respect and love,\n   And nothing more a knight can proffer.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt not get the maid for mate,\n   But thou shalt die, thou knight enamour'd;\nSo make thy shrift 'neath the linden straight,\n   The little birds shall hear it stammer'd.\n\n\"Now wilt thou stand, or wilt thou fly\n   Into the deep wood for protection;\nOr guard thy young life valiantly,\n   To prove thy courage and affection?\"\n\n\"O I will stand, nor craven fly\n   Unto the murky wood for cover,\nI'll guard my life right valiantly,\n   And thus I'll prove me worthy of her.\"\n\nFirst one he slew, then quickly two,\n   His knightly courage well display'd he;\nBut, though his seven foes he slew,\n   With his own life full dearly paid he.\n\nWhen the tidings reached the maiden's ear\n   She let fall briny tears in plenty;\nBut if for her kin she shed one tear,\n   She shed I ween for the bold knight twenty.\n\n\n\n\nDAMSEL METTIE.\n\n\nKnights Peter and Olaf they sat o'er the board,\nBetwixt them in jesting passed many a word.\n\n\"Now hear thou, Sir Olaf my comrade, do tell\nWhy thou hast ne'er wedded some fair demoiselle?\"\n\n\"What need with a housewife myself to distress,\nSo long as my little gold horn I possess?\n\n\"So long as my little gold horn I possess,\nI lure every maid I may wish to caress.\n\n\"The Damsel is not in the world to be found,\nBut what I can lure with that little horn's sound.\"\n\n\"I know a proud damsel that dwells by the rill,\nOn her thou couldst never accomplish thy will.\n\n\"I'll gage my war courser, the steady and tried,\nThou never canst lure the fair Mettie, my bride.\"\n\n\"Against him I'll gage my grey courser of power,\nThat she shall this evening repair to my bower.\n\n\"My courser so proud, and my neck bone so white\nI'll gage that I lure the fair Mettie this night.\"\n\n'Twas late in the evening, mist fell from the skies,\nSir Olaf he plays in his very best guise.\n\nSir Olaf he plays on his gold harp a strain,\nThat heard the proud Mettie far over the plain.\n\nSir Olaf a tune on his golden horn blew,\nTo the house of fair Mettie the thrilling sounds flew.\n\nLong stood the fair Mettie and listened thereto:\n\"Now shall I or not to that horn-player go?\"\n\nLong stood damsel Mettie in doubt and in care:\n\"No one of my maidens take with me I dare.\"\n\nThe maid and the little brown messan her friend,\nThrough the paths of the forest so lonely they wend.\n\nHer mantle of blue the fair Mettie puts on,\nAnd unto the bower of Sir Olaf she's gone.\n\nOn the door of the chamber she gave a low knock:\n\"Sir Olaf, I pray thee, arise and unlock.\"\n\n\"O none have I summoned to me at this hour,\nAnd unto no one will I open my door.\"\n\n\"Sir Olaf, arise, let me in I request,\nAt what I have heard I'm so sorely distrest.\"\n\n\"At what thou hast heard, be thou glad or distrest,\nThou comest not into my bower of rest.\n\n\"But soon should the door to thee open I wot,\nProvided Sir Peter thy sweetheart were not.\n\n\"Although in my heart I may love thee full dear,\nSir Peter for me to admit thee's too near.\"\n\n\"Sir Olaf, arise, let me in I implore,\nThe night-dew falls chilly my scarlet dress o'er.\"\n\n\"Though chill fall the night-dew thy scarlet dress o'er,\nI dare not, O Mettie, fling open my door.\"\n\n\"Since into thy bower thou lett'st me not come,\nO let thy swains guide me, dear heart, to my home.\"\n\n\"The night it is bright, and the moon sheds her ray,\nFair maid, thou wilt find without trouble thy way.\n\n\"The moon's in the sky, and shines clear o'er the mead,\nSo back by thyself to thy chamber proceed.\"\n\nThe maid, and the little brown messan her friend,\nThey home through the forest so lonely must wend.\n\nAnd when to the gate of the castle she came,\nSir Peter was leaning against it his frame.\n\n\"Thrice welcome, thrice welcome, thou proud Mettelil,\nSay where hast thou been in the night season still?\"\n\n\"I walked out, my lord, by no mortal eye seen,\nAnd I gathered the herbs both the blue and the green.\n\n\"The herbs I collected with diligent hand,\nWhich just at this season in fullest bloom stand.\n\n\"I stood in the meadows throughout the long night,\nAnd harked to the nightingale's song with delight.\"\n\n\"No! not to the song from the nightingale's throat,\nBut unto Sir Olaf his gilded horn's note.\n\n\"This night's walk, and others of similar sort,\nWill make thee the subject of common report.\n\n\"The walk of this night, and perhaps many more,\nBy the Saints, my fair Mettie, this walking give o'er.\n\n\"Now hear thou proud Mettie, to bed hie away,\nAnd 'neath the white linen thy fair body lay.\n\n\"Depart to thy bed, that I rede thee to do,\nWould'st have me remain to thee tender and true.\n\n\"I've lost now my courser, the steady and tried,\nBecause thou hast proved thee a false, fickle bride.\"\n\nAnd what became of her no man ever knew,\nNor whither her ashes before the wind flew.\n\nBut as soon as her bower in ruddy flame blazed\nIn the breast of Sir Peter such anguish was raised.\n\nSir Peter he grieved to his very death day,\nSir Olaf ne'er ventured to cross his friend's way.\n\nI counsel each swain, in affectionate part,\nTo tempt not too hardly the maid of his heart.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.\n                   _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_.","title":"Proud Signild, and Other Ballads","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2768}