{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_27405/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_27405","id":"gutenberg_27405","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27405","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.  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                               ULF VAN YERN\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\nULF VAN YERN\n\n\nIt was youthful Ulf Van Yern\n   Goes before the King to stand:\n\"To avenge my father's death\n   Lend me warriors of thy band.\"\n\n\"Of my kemps I'll lend thee them\n   Who to follow thee consent;\nAsk'st thou Vidrik Verlandson\n   Thou wilt further thy intent.\n\n\"I will lend thee of my men,\n   Thou shalt have the very flower;\nVidrik, and stark Diderik,\n   Many kemps have felt their power.\n\n\"They are heroes strong and bold\n   Who have battles often won;\nFeared are they in every land\n   Where their names' renown has gone.\"\n\nIn walked he, the good Dane King,\n   Glittering like the morning star:\n\"Which of ye, my Danish swains,\n   Will attend my friend to war?\"\n\nStalked the King along the floor,\n   Bore a gold cup in his hand:\n\"Which of ye, my courtmen, will,\n   Follow Wolf with shield and brand?\"\n\nTo their mouths their hats they held,\n   None to answer him made haste,\nSave bold Vidrik Verlandson,\n   Of them all he made a jest.\n\nIt was Vidrik Verlandson\n   Of his comrades made a sport:\n\"Sure 'tis but to guzzle mead\n   We are gathered here at court.\"\n\nWrathful Diderik straight became,\n   Frantic at that word he grew;\nOff he smote two warriors' heads,\n   At the King's foot them he threw.\n\nThen spake Vidrik Verlandson,\n   His whole thought on honor lies:\n\"We'll dispatch our messenger\n   And not go in stealthy guise.\"\n\nIt was youthful Hammergray\n   Hurried from the city gate;\nEvery one on him that looked\n   Lost his voice and colour straight.\n\nHark away, young Hammergray,\n   Gold is glittering on thy breast;\nNe'er was found or hawk or hound\n   Could with Hammer's speed contest.\n\nPearls upon his bosom shone,\n   Folks thereat astounded gaze:\nFowl was none beneath the sun\n   Could with youthful Hammer race.\n\nSwift into the King's high hill\n   Bounded youthful Hammergray:\nHe was nimble at the tongue,\n   And could speak in gallant way.\n\n\"King of Brattens Vendel, hail!\n   And the rest that fill your hall;\nUlf Van Yern to-morrow comes\n   To avenge his father's fall.\"\n\n\"Better had he be at home\n   Tending sheep beneath the height,\nBetter than a message send\n   That he thither comes to fight.\n\n\"Better had he crawl at home\n   Like a worm the rock beneath,\nThan the war-like struggle dare\n   Where his father sank in death.\n\n\"He at home had better stay,\n   Crouch and shake the bush below;\nOne blow only stood his sire,\n   He'll not stand me half a blow.\"\n\n\"King of Brattens Vendel, hear,\n   Keep your tongue behind your tooth;\nQuickly grows the young whelp up,\n   Full of threatening fangs his mouth.\"\n\n\"In the world no warrior wight\n   Lives for whom I need to care,\nSave 'tis Vidrik Verlandson,\n   And I trow he'll not be there.\"\n\nAnswered then the Hammergray,\n   Answered to the Monarch's fright:\n\"It is Vidrik Verlandson\n   Will our army lead in fight.\"\n\nRose a Brattens Vendel kemp,\n   And he shouted lustily:\n\"Well, full well, I Vidrik know,\n   Offspring of a blacksmith he.\n\n\"Once was I at Birtingsborg\n   As the kempions drank their fill,\nThere he played a play which lives\n   In my mind, and ever will.\n\n\"Fifteen kemps to death he smote,\n   And he deemed it but as game;\nNigh at hand I gazing stood,\n   Ashy pale my cheeks became.\"\n\n\"Listen now, young Hammergray,\n   Strongly I entreat of thee,\nIf of Vidrik aught thou know,\n   Not to keep it hid from me.\"\n\n\"Sick in bed if Vidrik lay,\n   Nor could sword nor buckler yield,\nMany a Danish swain you'd find\n   Would await you in the field.\"\n\nLoudly answered then the King,\n   Through his veins rushed courage warm:\n\"I'll to-morrow, if I live,\n   Meet ye in the battle's storm.\"\n\nFrom beside the King's right hand\n   Rose a kemp, a stalwart one:\n\"What care we for such like foes?\n   Vidrik's but a blacksmith's son.\"\n\nIt was the young Hammergray,\n   At that word his wrath boiled o'er;\nStraight he smote the kempion dead,\n   Dead he tumbled on the floor.\n\nSaid the Monarch with a cry,\n   While with rage his cheek grew white:\n\"Why hast thou my bravest kemp\n   Smit to death before my sight?\"\n\nThereto answered Hammergray,\n   As the King he fiercely eyed:\n\"I could ne'er with patience hear\n   Verland's valiant son decried.\"\n\nStraight away rushed Hammergray,\n   Soon he stood by Vidrik knight:\n\"Whet your spears, and sharp your swords,\n   For the King is bent on fight.\"\n\nAll the mirky night they rode\n   O'er the dusky heathery down,\nStill a light like that of day\n   From their polished weapons shone.\n\nOver Birting's moor they rode,\n   And through Birting's swamp in haste;\nFull seven hundred were the kemps,\n   All in hard cuirasses cas'd.\n\nTowards Birting on they rode,\n   Birting's city they rode through;\nThen they formed them in a ring,\n   And made Vidrik chief anew.\n\nOn the down their flag they pitched,\n   Therein you a lion may spy;\nNow must many an innocent man\n   Bid to life a long good-bye!\n\nLong they fought with sword and bow,\n   Each essayed his best to do;\nFrom their brows burst ruddy sweat,\n   From their bucklers fire out flew.\n\nIt was then the Vendel King,\n   From his helm a glance he cast:\n\"Say, who leads that band to-day,\n   That my people fall so fast?\"\n\nStraight replied the little page,\n   To the King rode next of all:\n\"Sir, 'tis Vidrik Verlandson,\n   Sits upon his courser tall.\"\n\nAnswered one of the King's kemps,\n   Who had been in many fields:\n\"Yes, 'tis Vidrik Verlandson,\n   Mimmering {13} in his hand he wields.\"\n\nThereto made the King reply,\n   As another glance he throws:\n\"'Gainst the shield I ill shall fight\n   Which the tongs and hammer shows.\n\n\"'Gainst the shield I ill shall fight\n   Which the tongs and hammer bears,\nThis day I am doomed to die,\n   For fierce Vidrik no one spares.\n\n\"Heathen wight, and Christian knight,\n   I would fight with glad and fain;\nOnly not with Verland's son,\n   For from him I scathe must gain.\"\n\nHa! Hurrah! the Vendel King\n   In his steed the rowels drove;\nDesperate he at Vidrik went,\n   Desperate he to fell him strove.\n\nBravely done, thou Vendel King,\n   Fast and hard thy strokes are plied\nE'en to his good saddle bow\n   Vidrik stoops his helm of pride.\n\n\"I've from thee borne eighteen blows,\n   They are, Sir, nor more nor fewer,\nFor thy kingly honor now\n   But one blow from me endure.\"\n\n\"If thou eighteen blows hast borne\n   Be they fewer or be they more,\nI'll the self-same number take,\n   Gift of love can break their power.\"\n\nForth a silken thread he drew\n   Tied it round his helm of gold:\n\"My heart's dear shall never hear\n   Blow of blacksmith laid me cold.\"\n\nVidrik spake to Mimmering:\n   \"Show thou'rt yet for something good;\nI can say for fifteen years\n   I more fiercely have not hew'd.\"\n\nGrasped he then the hilt so hard\n   From his nails that blood outstarted,\nOn the Monarch's helm he hew'd,\n   To the navel him he parted.\n\nShouted Vidrik Verlandson,\n   Standing on the verdant height:\n\"Be there one of all your host\n   Who has further wish to fight?\"\n\nNow the Brattens Vendel King\n   Lies out pouring blood like water:\nVengeance now has Ulf Van Yern,\n   Vengeance for his father's slaughter.\n\nIt was youthful Hammergray\n   Glanced around the bloody field:\n\"So like mice in their first sleep\n   Hushed the foemen lie, and still'd.\"\n\nGladly back with Ulf Van Yern\n   Rode the Dane King's chivalry;\nFor his sire avenged he thanked\n   Vidrik oft and fervently.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHOSEN KNIGHT\n\n\nSir Oluf rode forth over hill and lea\n   Full seven mile broad and seven mile wide,\nBut no one living discovered he\n   Who a joust with him dare ride.\n\nHe saw, whilst forward glancing,\nA gallant knight advancing,\nBlack was his courser, his helm was lac'd,\nHe came with bounding haste.\n\nUpon his spurs all gory\nTwelve gilded birdies bore he;\nEach time with the rowel he pricked his horse\nThe birdies sang with all their force.\n\nTwelve gilt wheels on his bridle\nHe bore, nor were they idle;\nEach time through them the breezes blew,\nHow quickly around the little wheels flew.\n\nHe carried before his breast\nA long lance, placed in rest;\nFar sharper than diamond was that lance,\nIt laid Sir Oluf in deadly trance.\n\nAloft on his helm he show'd\n   A chaplet of red glare;\nThree maidens in proof of their love bestow'd,\n   The youngest was so fair.\n\nSir Oluf enquired of the knight,\nAn he were come down from the realms of light:\n\"Art thou the Christ, for if thou be,\nI'll willingly bend before thee the knee?\"\n\n\"I am not the Christ of power,\nThou need'st not before me cower;\nAn unknown knight thou see'st in me,\nSent forth by three maids of high degree.\"\n\n\"If thou be a chosen knight\n   Whom maidens three have sent this way,\nThen for love of those damsels bright,\n   Thou shalt joust with me to-day.\"\n\nThe first course they together rode\n   Of their coursers trial made they,\nThe second course they together rode\n   Their best manhood well display'd they.\n\nThe third joust they together rode\n   Neither one the other humbled,\nBut the fourth joust they together rode\n   Dead to the green earth they tumbled.\n\nNow on the wold the heroes lie,\n   With their blood the grass is red;\nIn the chamber high sit the maids and sigh,\n   But the youngest soon is dead.\n\n\n\n\nSIR SWERKEL\n\n\nThere's a dance in the hall of Sir Swerkel the Childe,\nThere dances fair Kirstine, her hair hanging wild.\n\nThere dance the good King and his nobles so gay,\nFair Kirstine before them she warbles a lay.\n\nHis hand to the maiden Sir Swerkel stretched free:\n\"Come hither and dance, little Kirstine, with me.\"\n\nHer finger he pressed, and moved up to her near:\n\"Sweet Kirstine, I pray thee become my heart's dear.\"\n\nHer finger he pressed, on her sandal trod he:\n\"Fair Kirstine, with pity my agonies see!\"\n\nThey danced to the left, and they danced to the right,\nAnd her troth the fair damsel bestowed on the knight.\n\nUpon him Sir Swerkel his red mantle throws,\nAnd to the high hall to his mother he goes.\n\n\"Hail, hail as thou sittest here, dear mother mine!\nI come from betrothing the little Kirstine.\"\n\n\"Our Lady forbid, and our Lady forfend,\nRelations like ye to betroth should pretend.\n\n\"In wedlock united ye never must be,\nFor brother and sister, believe me, are ye.\"\n\n\"Now tell me, I pray thee, O dear mother mine!\nWhat time thou didst bring forth the little Kirstine.\"\n\n\"The time that thou wast on thy journey to Rome,\nI bore the sweet flowret that's now in full bloom.\n\n\"Whilst thou to the sepulchre holy wast gone,\nI bore the fair mirror thy love that hast won.\n\n\"In the court of the Queen she was reared up with care,\nAnd scarlet and sable accustomed to wear.\"\n\n\"Now give me thy counsel, O dear mother mine,\nHow I may forget her, the little Kirstine?\"\n\n\"Go chase thou the hart, and go chase thou the hind,\nAnd thou wilt her image soon chase from thy mind.\n\n\"Go chase thou the hart, and go chase thou the roe,\nAnd thou thy love-longing wilt quickly forego.\"\n\nHe chased the proud hart, and he chased the swift hind,\nBut he never could chase the fair maid from his mind.\n\nHe chased the tall hart, and he chased the sleek roe,\nBut the longing of love from his mind would not go.\n\nSo the knight from the country was driven at last,\nAnd into a cloister the maiden was cast.\n\nNo little bird shaped from the far land its flight\nThan enquiry she made for her dear betrothed knight.\n\nA bird ne'er so little across the sea stray'd\nBut he enquired after his dear betrothed maid.\n\n\n\n\nFINN AND THE DAMSEL\nOR\nTHE TRIAL OF WITS.\n\n\n\"What's rifer than leaves?\" Finn cried.\n\"Dew is more rife,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"Hotter than fire?\" Finn cried.\n\"The face of a kind-hearted man,\" she replied,\n\n\"When chance to his hut the stranger doth guide,\nAnd unable he is for his guest to provide.\"\n\n\"Swifter than wind?\" Finn cried.\n\"The vigour of woman,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"Sweeter than honey?\" Finn cried.\n\"The words of affection,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"Ranker than bane?\" Finn cried.\n\"A foeman's abuse,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"More black than the crow?\" Finn cried.\n\"Death is yet blacker,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"More sharp than the sword?\" Finn cried.\n\"Woman's sense at a pinch,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"What's best of all gems?\" Finn cried.\n\"A knife or a dirk,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"Softer than down?\" Finn cried.\n\"Love's palm on your cheek,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"A ship for all cargoes?\" Finn cried.\n\"The tongs of the smith,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"Whiter than snow?\" Finn cried.\n\"Truth is more white,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"How many trees are there?\" Finn cried.\n\"The green and the sere make two,\" she replied.\n\n\"What's reddest of red?\" Finn cried.\n\"The flush of the freeman when praised,\" she replied.\n\"Or when praise to his merit is meanly denied.\"\n\n\"Than the radish more brittle?\" Finn cried.\n\"The nature of woman,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"What never grows old nor betied?\"\n\"The friendship of man,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"What does woman love best?\" Finn cried.\n\"A fair or a dance,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"What's best for your colour?\" Finn cried.\n\"Cool air and good sleep,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"How many steeds are there?\" Finn cried,\n\"But two, a horse and a mare,\" she replied.\n\n\"What's best of all food?\" Finn cried,\n\"Nought better than milk,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"What adorns a man most?\" Finn cried,\n\"High deeds, humble words,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\"The worst of all fare?\" Finn cried.\n\"Strong drink, if it be too freely supplied,\nOr the prate of a fool,\" the damsel replied.\n\n\n\n\nEPIGRAMS BY CAROLAN\n\n\nOn Friars\n\n\nWould'st thou on good terms with friars live,\n   Ever be humble and admiring;\nAll they ask of thee freely give,\n   And in return be nought requiring.\n\n\n\nOn a surly Butler,\nwho had refused him admission to the cellar\n\n\nO Dermod Flynn it grieveth me\n   Thou keepest not Hell's portal;\nAs long as thou should'st porter be,\n   Thou would'st admit no mortal.\n\n\n\nLines\n\n\nHow deadly the blow I received\nWhen of thee, O my darling, bereaved!\nNo more up the hill I shall bound,\nNo strength in my poor foot is found;\nNo joy o'er my visage shall break\n'Till from out the cold earth I awake.\nOf the corn like the very top grain,\nOr the pine 'mongst the shrubs of the plain,\nOr the moon 'mongst the starlets above,\nWent thou amongst women, my love!\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.\n                    _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_\n\n\n\n\nFootnote:\n\n\n{13}  Vidrik's sword.","title":"Ulf Van Yern, and Other Ballads","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2523}