{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_28825/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_28825","id":"gutenberg_28825","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28825","summary":null,"tags":["Ballads","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Poetry"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price, email\nccx074@pglaf.org.  Many thanks to Norfolk and Norwich Millennium\nLibrary, UK, for kindly supplying the images from which this\ntranscription was made.\n\n\n\n\n\n                             THE VERNER RAVEN\n                          THE COUNT OF VENDEL'S\n                                 DAUGHTER\n                            AND 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\nTHE VERNER RAVEN\n\n\nThe Raven he flies in the evening tide,\n   He in day dares not intrude;\nWhoever is born to have evil luck\n   In vain may seek for good.\n\nLustily flies the Verner Raven,\n   High o'er the wall he's flown,\nFor he was aware that Irmindlin fair\n   Sate in her bower alone.\n\nHe southward flew, and he northward flew,\n   He flew high up in the cloud;\nAnd he beheld May Irmindlin\n   Who sorrowing sate and sew'd.\n\n\"Now hear me, little Irmindlin,\n   Why weep in this piteous way?\nFor father or mother, or is it for brother,\n   That adown thy cheek tears stray?\"\n\nIt was Damsel Irmindlin,\n   Swift out of the window looked she:\n\"O who is he that will comfort me,\n   And list to my misery?\n\n\"Hear thou, wild Raven, bird of Death,\n   Fly thou hither down to me;\nAnd all my trouble and all my care\n   I'll straight relate to thee.\n\n\"My father gave me the son of a king,\n   We were fitted the one for the other,\nBut he was into the Austrian land\n   Dispatched by my cruel step-mother.\n\n\"So happily we should together have lived,\n   For he my whole love won;\nBut she wished to give me her sister's son,\n   Who was liker a fiend than a man.\n\n\"I had a gallant brother once,\n   Sir Verner by name was he,\nBut he was transformed by my cruel step-dame\n   And driven to a strange countrie.\"\n\n\"Hear thou, Damsel Irmindlin,\n   What wilt thou give me, say?\nI'll carry thee straight to thy plighted youth,\n   If with me thou wilt fly away.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt from me the ruddy gold,\n   And the silver white receive;\nIf thou bear me to my Bridegroom bold,\n   And me from my woe relieve.\"\n\n\"Keep thou thyself thy silver and gold,\n   Such gifts I do not crave;\nThe first son thou conceivest of him,\n   That, that from thee I'll have.\"\n\nThen straight she took the Raven's foot,\n   Laid that her white hand upon;\nShe swore to him by her Christian faith,\n   That he should have the son.\n\nThen took he Damsel Irmindlin,\n   He placed her on his back;\nThen flew he over the wild sea waves\n   As fast as he could track.\n\nIt was the Verner Raven wild,\n   On the turret he alighted:\n\"Now sit we, Damsel, upon the house,\n   Where dwells thy Bridegroom plighted.\"\n\nOut came bold Sir Nilaus,\n   A silver cup in his hand:\n\"Be welcome, Damsel Irmindlin,\n   Here to this foreign land!\n\n\"What shall I give to thee, Raven wild,\n   That hast brought to me my Bride?\nNo better tidings I have heard,\n   Since from Denmark forth I hied.\"\n\nThanks be to brave Sir Nilaus,\n   He kept his faith so well;\nThe Monday next that followed,\n   His bridal it befell.\n\nThey their bridal solemnised\n   With glee and utmost joy;\nWhen forty weeks away had flown\n   She brought into the world a boy.\n\nIt was the Verner Raven,\n   Perched on the turret tall:\n\"What thou did'st promise me, Irmindlin,\n   To thy mind I'd have thee call.\"\n\nSo sorely she wept, and her hands she smote,\n   Because it a girl was not:\n\"Thee shall the wild Death Raven have,\n   That will cost thee thy life, I wot!\"\n\nThere came flying over the house\n   The Raven, with looks to scare;\nSo sorely then wept both Maidens and Dames,\n   And their hands wrung in despair.\n\nSir Nilaus went, and proffered the bird\n   Proud castles many a one;\nHe proffered him even the half of his land\n   If he only might keep his son.\n\n\"If I get not the little babe,\n   Thou sorely shall rue it straight,\nThee I limb from limb will tear\n   And thy kingdom devastate.\"\n\nShe has taken the babe, and in linen white\n   Hath wrapped it tenderly;\n\"Farewell, farewell, my dearest son,\n   Thou owest thy death to me.\"\n\nThen bore they out the little babe,\n   On its mother's breast that lay;\nO'er the cheeks of all did big tears fall,\n   Such woe was and wail that day.\n\nThe Raven took the child in his claw,\n   He croaked in joyous guise;\nSir Nilaus stood and looked thereon,\n   Pouring forth bitter sighs.\n\nThen tore he amain its right eye out,\n   Drank the half of its heart's red blood;\nThen he became the handsomest knight\n   That upon earth e'er stood.\n\nHe changed into the loveliest knight\n   That with eye man ever had seen:\nIt was Irmindlin's brother himself,\n   Who had long enchanted been.\n\nAll the folk that stood thereby,\n   They fell upon their knees bare;\nAnd the child it was to life restored\n   When to God they had made their prayer.\n\nNow sitteth Dame Irmindlin so glad,\n   All her grief has from her hied;\nFor she has now both brother and son,\n   And sleeps by Sir Nilaus' side.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COUNT OF VENDEL'S\nDAUGHTER\n\n\nWithin a bower the womb I left,\n   'Midst dames and maids who stood to aid;\nThey wrapped me first in silken weft,\n   And next in scarlet red array'd.\n\nBut a stepdame soon 'twas my lot to get,\n   And fierce and wild she proved to me;\nWithin a coffer me she set,\n   And pushed it out upon the sea.\n\nBy one wave I was borne to land,\n   And by the next away was ta'en;\nBut God on High, it seems, had plann'd,\n   That I should footing there obtain.\n\nThe tide it drove me to the shore,\n   And in its backward course retook;\nSure ne'er had child of king before\n   Such buffeting on sea to brook.\n\nBut God He help'd me, so that I\n   Was cast above the billows' reach;\nAnd soon a savage wolf drew nigh,\n   Was prowling on the sandy beach.\n\nSoon prowling came a wolf so gray,\n   And me up-taking in his jaws,\nHe carried me with care away\n   Deep, deep into the forest shaws.\n\nThat self-same wolf he was so kind\n   That me beneath a tree he laid;\nAnd then came running a nimble hind,\n   And me unto its lair convey'd.\n\nThere me for winter one she nurs'd--\n   She nursed me for two winters' space.\nTo creep, to creep, I learnt at first,\n   And next I learnt to pace, to pace.\n\nAnd I was full eight years, I wot,\n   Within the quiet, green retreat.\nClose couched beside the hind I got\n   Full many a slumber calm and sweet.\n\nI had clothes and shelter of no kind,\n   Except the linden green alone;\nAnd, save the gentle forest hind,\n   Had nurse and foster-mother none.\n\nBut forth on courser reeking hot\n   There rushed a knight of bearing bold,\nAnd he my foster-mother shot\n   With arrow on the verdant wold.\n\nHe pierced the hind with mortal wound,\n   And all our fond connection cut;\nThen wrapped his cloak my frame around,\n   And me within his buckler put.\n\nThat self-same knight, so bold and strong,\n   Within his bower the foundling bred;\nHe tended me both well and long,\n   And finally his bride he made.\n\nHe had by long inquiry found\n   My father was a noble count\nIn Vendel's land, who castles own'd,\n   And rul'd o'er many a plain and mount.\n\nThe first night we together slept\n   Was fraught with woe of darkest hue;\nFoes, whom he long at bay had kept,\n   Broke in on us, and him they slew.\n\nThe night we lay together first\n   A deed of horror was fulfill'd;\nThe bride-house door his foemen burst,\n   And in my arms my husband kill'd.\n\nSoon, soon, my friends to counsel go,\n   A husband new they chose for me;\nThe cloister's prior of mitred brow--\n   The good Sir Nilaus styl'd was he.\n\nBut soon as I the threshold cross'd,\n   The nuns could not their fury smother;\nThey vow'd by God and all His Host,\n   The Prior Nilaus was my brother.\n\nForth from the cloister him they drew,\n   They pelted him to death with stones;\nI stood close by, and all could view,\n   I scarce could hear his piteous moans.\n\nOnce more my friends to counsel hied,\n   For me another spouse they get--\nSon of the King of England wide\n   Was he, and hight Sir Engelbret.\n\nNine winters with that princely youth\n   I lived; of joy we had no dearth,\nI tell to ye, for sooth and truth,\n   To ten fair sons that I gave birth.\n\nBut pirate crews the land beset,\n   No one, no one, my grief could tell;\nThey slew with sword Sir Engelbret,\n   And nine of my fair sons as well.\n\nMy husband and my sons with brand\n   They slew.  How I bewail their case!\nMy tenth son here they from the land--\n   I never more shall see his face.\n\nNow is my care as complicate\n   As golden threads which maidens spin;\nGod crown with bliss Sir Engelbret,\n   He ever was so free from sin.\n\nBut now I'll take the holy vows,\n   Within the cloister under Ey;\nI'll ne'er become another's spouse,\n   But in religion I will die.\n\nBut first to all the country side\n   I will declare my bosom's grief;\nI find, the more my grief I hide,\n   The less, the less, is my relief.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CRUEL MOTHER-IN-LAW\n\n\nFrom his home and his country Sir Volmor should fare,\nHis wife he commends to his mother's best care.\n\nProud Lyborg she sang, as the dancers she watched,\nBehind stood Dame Ingeborg, malice she hatched.\n\n\"To live to the Fall if the luck I enjoy\nFair lady, thy beautiful voice I'll destroy.\"\n\nProud Lyborg's fair maidens upon the floor sprang,\nAnd all through the evening she unto them sang.\n\nBut alack two short summer days scarcely had pass'd,\nWhen in desperate sickness proud Lyborg lay fast.\n\nProud Lyborg fell sick, and lay stretched on her bed,\nThen backwards and forwards Dame Ingeborg sped.\n\n\"Now hear me, Dame Ingeborg, dear mother mine,\nDo bring me, I pray, either water or wine.\"\n\n\"The water is frozen, and frozen the wine,\nAnd frozen the tap in each barrel of mine.\n\n\"The door it is locked, and the keys are away,\nBut where, daughter dear, by the Saints I can't say.\"\n\n\"If I can nor water nor wine from thee win,\nThen open the door that the dew may rush in.\n\n\"Cause the door to the North to be wide open set,\nThen my feverish frame cool refreshment shall get.\"\n\n\"The door to the South I'll have straightway undone,\nThat the hot sun may flash in thy visage upon.\"\n\n\"O would there were one that for sweet pity's sake,\nTo my mother a message in secret would take.\"\n\nThen answer'd proud Lyborg's own little foot-boy:\n\"Your message in secret I'll carry with joy.\"\n\nThat they were alone they with confidence thought;\nDame Ingeborg stood nigh, and every word caught.\n\nThe lad he upsprang on his courser so high,\nHe galloped as fast as the winged birds fly.\n\nIn, in came the lad, in a kirtle red drest:\n\"Your daughter, Dame Lyborg, in death will soon rest.\n\n\"She bids you to come with all possible quickness,\nTo live through this night she can't hope from her sickness.\"\n\nStraight unto her servants proud Mettelil says:\n\"My horses go fetch from the meads where they graze.\"\n\nThe horses they galloped, the chariot wheels turned,\nThroughout the long day whilst the summer heat burned.\n\nThe midsummer's sun with such fury it glows\nProud Lyborg swoons 'neath it in terrible throes.\n\nA purse takes Dame Ingeborg fraught with gold treasure,\nAnd she speeds to the hall, her heart bounding with pleasure.\n\n\"Whosoever will gold and will bounty derive,\nLet him help me to bury proud Lyborg alive.\"\n\nSoon as she of the gold distribution had made,\nBelow the black earth the fair lily they laid.\n\nTo the gate of the castle proud Mettelil came,\nDame Ingeborg stood there, and leaned on the same.\n\n\"Proud Ingeborg, hear what I say unto thee:\nWhat hast done with my daughter? declare that to me!\"\n\n\"But yesterday 'twas that with sorrowful mind,\nHer corse to the arms of the grave we consign'd.\"\n\n\"Proud Ingeborg, hush thee, nor talk in this guise,\nBut show me the grave where my dear daughter lies.\"\n\nAs soon as Dame Mettelil o'er the place trod,\nProud Lyborg she screamed underneath the green sod.\n\n\"Whoever will gold and will silver obtain,\nLet him help me to dig now with might and with main.\"\n\nThey took up proud Lyborg, all there as she lay,\nHer mother flung o'er her the scarlet array.\n\n\"Now tell to me, Lyborg, thou child of my heart,\nSince restored to the arms of thy mother thou art,\n\n\"What death to thy thinking should Ingeborg thole,\nFor placing thee living in horrid grave-hole?\"\n\n\"To destroy my young life it is true, she was bent,\nBut let her live, mother, and let her repent.\"\n\n\"That she go unpunished I cannot permit,\nI'll teach her what 'tis on a fire to sit.\"\n\nTo two of her servants proud Mettelil spake:\n\"Do ye quickly a fire on the open field make.\n\n\"Do ye cut down the oak and the bonny ash-tree,\nThat the fire by them fed may burn brilliant and free.\"\n\nDame Ingeborg forth from the house they convey'd,\nAnd they burnt her to dust on the fire they had made.\n\nSir Volmor came home from the red field of strife,\nThen tidings assailed him, with dolour so rife.\n\nThen tidings assailed him, with dolour so rife,\nBurnt, burnt was his mother, and flown was his wife.\n\nHe bade for proud Lyborg of red gold a store,\nBut he could the lily obtain nevermore.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAITHFUL KING OF THULE\n\n\nA king so true and steady\n   In Thule lived of old;\nTo him his dying lady\n   A goblet gave of gold.\n\nHe drank thereout so often,\n   For all his love it gained;\nTo tears his eyes would soften\n   Whene'er its juice he drained.\n\nWhen death drew nigh, his spirit\n   His riches o'er he told\nTo him who should inherit--\n   But not that cup of gold.\n\nBy all his knights surrounded\n   One day he sat at dine,\nIn hall of fortress, founded\n   By ocean's roaring brine.\n\nThe ancient hero rallies\n   With one more draught his blood,\nThen casts the sacred chalice\n   Below him in the flood.\n\nDeep, deep within the billows\n   He watched it as it sank;\nThen, sinking on his pillows,\n   No drop more e'er he drank.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRIES' SONG\n\n\nBalmy the evening air,\n   Nature, how bright the hue!\nBut, though the bloom is fair\n   The sense with sweets to woo,\nLove, Music, Mirth, Oh give!\n   On these we Fairies live!\n\nThe glow-worm's amorous lamp\n   Recalls her wandering mate;\nTheir revel in the swamp\n   Outshines the halls of State.\nThen, Spirits, hither fly,\n   And match their revelry!\n\nThe Bat is on the wing,\n   And Gnats, what reels they run!\nIn wide or narrow ring,\n   An atmosphere of fun.\nThen let us to the dance,\n   And feet like midges glance!\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                  LONDON\n               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.\n                   _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_.","title":"The Verner Raven, The Count of Vendel's Daughter, and Other Ballads","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2549}