{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_28986/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_28986","id":"gutenberg_28986","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28986","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\n\n\n\n\n\n                              YOUNG SWAIGDER\n                                    OR\n                            THE FORCE OF RUNES\n                            AND OTHER BALLADS\n\n\n                                    BY\n                              GEORGE BORROW\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                     PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION\n\n                                   1913\n\n               _Copyright in the United States of America_\n           _by Houghton_, _Mifflin & Co. for Clement Shorter_.\n\n\n\n\nYOUNG SWAIGDER\nOR\nTHE FORCE OF RUNES\n\n\nIt was the young Swaigder,\n   With the little ball he played;\nThe ball flew into the Damsel's lap,\n   And pale her cheeks it made.\n\nThe ball flew into the Damsel's bower.\n   He went of it in quest;\nBefore he out of the bower came,\n   Much care had filled his breast!\n\n\"The ball, the ball thou shouldst not fling,\n   Shouldst cast it not at me;\nThere sits a maid in a foreign land,\n   She sighs and weeps for thee.\n\n\"Thou never more shalt peace obtain,\n   Or close in sleep thine eyes,\nTill thou has freed the lovely maid,\n   In thrall for thee that lies.\"\n\nIt was the young Swaigder,\n   Placed his cap upon his head,\nAnd into the high chamber\n   Unto his knights he sped.\n\n\"Here, quaffing mead from out the shell\n   Sit ye, my Courtmen bold,\nWhilst I go to the mountain drear,\n   Speech with the Dead to hold!\n\n\"Here, quaffing mead and ruddy wine,\n   Sit ye my men so brave,\nWhilst I go to the mountain drear,\n   With my mother speech to have!\"\n\nIt was the young Swaigder,\n   And he began to call--\nRiven were wall and marble stone,\n   And the hill began to fall.\n\n\"Who is it breaks my sleep,\n   And works me such annoy?\nDeep, deep below the earth so swart\n   Can I not peace enjoy?\"\n\n\"O, it is the young Swaigder,\n   The son thou lovest dear;\nHe fain would good advice from thee,\n   His darling mother, hear.\n\n\"For I have now a step-mother,\n   So harsh she is of mood,\nAnd she upon me Runes has cast\n   For a maid I ne'er have view'd.\"\n\n\"I will give thee a noble horse,\n   Shall bear thee at thy need,\nAnd he will run upon the sea\n   As on the verdant mead.\n\n\"And I will to thee a napkin give,\n   'Tis of Ager wool entire,\nBefore thee on the board shall stand,\n   What meat thou shalt desire.\n\n\"I will to thee a deer's horn give,\n   Mark well its golden gleam;\nAll the drink thou wishest for,\n   From the golden horn shall stream.\n\n\"And I will give to thee a sword,\n   Hardened in Dragon's blood;\nIt will glitter like a beam\n   When thou ridest through the wood.\n\n\"I will give to thee a barque,\n   Its white sails silk shall be;\nShall move as well on the verdant earth\n   As on the foaming sea.\"\n\nTheir silken sails on the gilded yard\n   So wide, so wide they spread;\nAway they sailed to the distant land,\n   Where dwelt the lovely maid.\n\nAnd they have cast their anchors\n   Upon the yellow sand;\nIt was the young Swaigder\n   Who stepped the first to land.\n\nIt was the young Swaigder,\n   His ship to the shore he steers;\nAnd the first man there that met him,\n   Was a man of many years.\n\nIt was then the ancient man\n   Was the first to make enquire:\n\"O, what is the name of the young swain\n   With the sword, and the look of fire?\"\n\n\"O, he is hight young Swaigder,\n   So wide his fame doth fly;\nAnd he for a maid is pining sore\n   On whom he ne'er set eye.\"\n\n\"There is within this land a maid,\n   Who pining long hath been\nFor a swain that hight is Swaigder,\n   And him she ne'er has seen.\"\n\n\"If longs she after a young swain\n   On whom she ne'er set eye,\nAnd he is hight young Swaigder,\n   He is here in verity.\n\n\"Now do thou hear, thou ancient man,\n   If it as thou sayest be,\nBecome I King upon this land,\n   I'll make a Count of thee.\"\n\n\"'Midst of yonder verdant wood\n   Stands the castle of the maid;\nThe house is of gray marble stone,\n   The court with steel belaid.\n\n\"The house is of grey marble stone\n   The court with steel is floored,\nThe portal is of ruddy gold,\n   Twelve bears before it guard.\n\n\"In middle of the maiden's court\n   A linden spreads its shade,\nIf truly thou art Swaigder,\n   Hie forward unafraid.\"\n\nAway then rode young Swaigder,\n   Cast towards the gate his eye;\nAnd all the locks that before it hung,\n   Down fell they instantly.\n\nThen withered the leaf, then withered the linden,\n   And the grass at the linden's root;\nAnd the twelve bears who the portal guard\n   They fell at the hero's foot.\n\nWhen he came into the castle-court,\n   He smoothed his array,\nThen proudly up to the high, high hall\n   To the King he took his way.\n\n\"Hail to thee, hail to thee, heathen King,\n   Who dost at the wide board sit,\nWilt thou give me thy daughter fair?\n   Return me an answer fit.\"\n\n\"I have no daughter, I have no daughter,\n   No daughter but one have I;\nAnd she so sorely longing\n   For a young swain doth lie.\n\n\"For a young swain whom she has never seen\n   My daughter longing lies;\nThe swain he hight is Swaigder,\n   So far his fame it hies.\"\n\nIn went the little serving boy,\n   Wore a kirtle white to see:\n\"If thou dost long for Swaigder,\n   Know that hither come is he.\"\n\nIn then came the lovely maid,\n   In white silk clad was she:\n\"Now welcome, welcome my dearest heart,\n   Young Swaigder, welcome be!\"\n\n\"Wilt thou consent baptized to be,\n   And the Christian faith receive,\nAnd follow me to Denmark\n   With young Swaigder to live?\"\n\n\"Willingly I baptized will be,\n   Will the Christian faith receive;\nAnd will follow thee to Denmark,\n   Young Swaigder, with thee to live.\"\n\nOn a Thursday she baptized was,\n   She the Christian faith received;\nOn a Sunday they their bridal held,\n   And ever in peace they lived.\n\nThey kept their bridal feast for a day,\n   They kept the same for nine;\nAnd there sat waiting the ancient man,\n   And through all of them did pine.\n\nBe thanks to brave young Swaigder,\n   He kept so well his word;\nA Knight he made of that ancient man,\n   Set him highest at the board.\n\nNow joyful is young Swaigder,\n   His trouble all has fled;\nHe King became upon that land,\n   She Queen, when her sire was dead.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HAIL STORM {14}\n\n\nAs in Horunga haven\nWe fed the crow and raven,\nI heard the tempest breaking\nOf demon Thorgerd's waking;\nSent by the fiend in anger,\nWith din and stunning clangor;\nTo crush our might intended,\nGigantic hail descended.\n\nA pound the smallest pebble\nDid weigh, and others treble;\nIt drifted, dealing slaughter,\nAnd blood ran out like water,\nRan recking, red and horrid,\nFrom battered cheek and forehead;\nBut, though so rudely greeted,\nNo Jornsberg man retreated.\n\nWith anger ever sharper,\nThorgerda fierce, and Yrpr,\nShot lightning from each finger,\nWhich sped and did not linger.\nThen sank our brave in numbers\nTo cold, eternal slumbers;\nThere lay the good and gallant,\nRenowned for warlike talent.\n\nTo bide the storm unable\nOur chieftain hewed his cable,\nAnd with his ship departed--\nWe follow, broken-hearted;\nFor in Horunga haven\nOur bravest feed the raven;\nWe did our best, but no men\nCan stand 'gainst hail and foemen.\n\n\n\n\nROSMER MEREMAN {16}\n\n\nIn Denmark once a lady dwelt,\n   Hellelil the name she bore;\nA castle new that lady built,\n   It shone all Denmark o'er.\n\nHer daughter dear was stolen away,\n   She sought for her far and near;\nThe more she sought the less she found,\n   To her great distress and care.\n\nShe bid a noble ship be built,\n   Therein gilt masts did stand;\nWith valiant knights and courtmen bold\n   She caused it to be manned.\n\nHer sons she followed to the strand,\n   With many a fond caress;\nFor eight long years they sailed away,\n   Enduring much distress.\n\nFor eight years had they sailed away,\n   So long they thought the tide,\nWhen they sailed before a lofty hill,\n   And straight to land they hied.\n\nThen peeped the Damsel Swanelil\n   Forth from the mountain brow:\n\"O whence can be these stranger swains,\n   As guests that seek us now?\"\n\nThe youngest brother then replied,\n   So ready of speech was he:\n\"A widow's three poor sons we are,\n   So long we've sailed the sea.\n\n\"Dame Hellelil our mother is,\n   We were born on Denmark's ground;\nFrom us our sister stolen was,\n   And her we have yet not found.\"\n\n\"If thou wert born on Danish ground,\n   And Dame Hellelil be thy mother\nThen I thy beloved sister am\n   And thou art my youngest brother.\n\n\"Now do thou hear, my youngest brother,\n   Why didst not at home remain?\nIf thou hadst a thousand thousand lives\n   Thou none of them couldst retain.\"\n\nShe placed him in the smallest nook\n   She could in the house espy:\nShe bade him for sake of the highest God,\n   Neither to laugh nor cry.\n\nRosmer came from the ocean home,\n   And straight he fell to bann:\n\"O I can smell by my right hand\n   That here is a Christian man.\"\n\n\"A Bird with a dead man's shank in its mouth,\n   Chanced over our house to fly;\nHe cast it in, I cast it out,\n   And that full speedily.\"\n\nA noble meal she then prepared,\n   And she gave him many a kiss:\n\"O here is come my sister's son,\n   It would grieve me him to miss.\n\n\"My sister's son is here arrived\n   From the land where I first drew breath;\nNow give him, my lord, thy firm, firm oath,\n   Thou'lt do unto him no scathe.\"\n\n\"If here has come thy sister's son\n   From the native land of both,\nTo do him ne'er any kind of hurt,\n   I swear by my highest oath.\"\n\nIt was the lofty Rosmer King\n   To two serving swains did call:\n\"Bid ye proud Swanelil's sister's son\n   Attend me in the hall.\"\n\nIt was Swanelil's sister's son,\n   Before Rosmer should appear;\nHis heart it fluttered, his body it shivered,\n   He stood in such mighty fear.\n\nThen took Rosmer her sister's son,\n   Placed him upon his knee;\nHe stroked him so tenderly on the face\n   That 'twas yellow and blue to see.\n\nThen answered proud Dame Swanelil:\n   \"Thou forget'st, Sir Rosmer, mayhap,\nThou hast not fingers small enough\n   To stroke so little a chap.\"\n\nAnd he was there till the years were five,\n   Then he longed for his native land:\n\"Now cause, O sister Swanelil,\n   That I'm set on the yellow strand.\"\n\nIt was proud Dame Swanelil\n   'Fore Rosmer goes to stand;\n\"The swain so long has been by the sea,\n   That he sighs for his native land.\"\n\n\"If the swain has been so long by the sea\n   That he sighs for his native land,\nI will give him a chest of gold,\n   To be subject to his hand.\"\n\n\"Wilt thou give him a chest of gold,\n   To be subject to his hand?\nHear thou now, my noble heart's dear,\n   Take him to his native land.\"\n\nIt was proud Dame Swanelil,\n   So cunning a trick she played;\nShe took thereout the ruddy gold all,\n   And herself in the chest she laid.\n\nHe took the man upon his back,\n   And the chest in his mouth he's ta'en;\nAnd so he went the long, long way\n   Across the land and the main.\n\n\"Now have I borne thee to thy land,\n   Thou seest both sun and moon;\nI conjure thee by the highest God\n   Name Swanelil to none.\"\n\nRosmer sprang into the sea amain,\n   The water splashed to the sky;\nAnd when he came to the mountain home\n   No Swanelil could he spy,\n\nWhen he came to the mountain home\n   Gone was the belov'd of his heart;\nHe sprang so wild about the hill,\n   And changed to a flint rock swart.\n\nThere was rejoicing in Hellelil's court,\n   They rejoiced in many a way;\nBack to their friends her children are come,\n   Who had been so long away.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WICKED-STEPMOTHER\n\n\nNo. II. {23}\n\n\nSir Peter o'er to the island strayed--\n   _All underneath a linden wide_.\nHe weds Mettelil, so fair a maid--\n   _In such peril with her through the forest ride_.\n\nBracelets of gold he given her hath,\nThat fills his mother's breast with wrath.\n\n\"If thou wed a maid against my desire,\nWith her first babe she shall expire!\"\n\nHe weds her and home he her has ta'en,\nTo meet her his mother will not deign.\n\nWhen they together a year had dwelt,\nHerself with child proud Mettelil felt.\n\nOut and in they Mettelil bear,\nDeath has to her approached so near.\n\n\"Since neither live nor die I may,\nTake me whence a maid ye brought me away.\"\n\nThereto the Stepmother made reply,\nShe was tow'rds her disposed maliciously:\n\n\"The horses graze upon the mead,\nAnd the coach swains heavy they sleep in bed.\"\n\nSir Peter he stood a little apart,\nMettelil has so grieved his heart.\n\nThe coach to her country was turned in haste,\nAnd the horses before it were quickly placed.\n\nAnd when they came to the verdant moor,\nHer chariot broke into pieces four.\n\n\"What mighty crime can I have done,\nThat my own coach 'neath me will not run?\"\n\nSir Peter at no great distance hied,\nHe was so near he all espied.\n\n\"We forthwith will find a remedy,\nThou shalt ride and walk will I.\"\n\n\"Each noble Dame will know how fit,\nI am in this plight in the saddle to sit.\"\n\nProud Mettelil came to her father's abode,\nHer father abroad to receive her strode.\n\n\"Welcome, Mettelil, daughter mine,\nHow speedest thou with that burden of thine?\"\n\n\"So speeding am I, such plight I am in,\nThat upon this earth no rest can I win.\"\n\nLittle Kirsten a may was of goodness rife,\nDearly she loved her brother's wife.\n\nShe to her brother was true of heart,\nOf wax two babes she formed with art.\n\nShe wrapt them up in the linen fair,\nAnd took them beneath her cloak with care.\n\nShe took them beneath her cloak with care,\nAnd them to her mother she straightway bare.\n\n\"My dearest mother, no longer grieve,\nThe babes of your son in your arms receive.\"\n\n\"Has Mettelil forth these little sons brought?\nThen my dark Runes have availed nought.\n\n\"Air and earth I have spelled, save the spot alone,\nThe little spot, my chest stood upon.\n\n\"Oh I enchanted have as wide\nAs she could either walk or ride.\n\n\"I have enchanted both earth and wood,\nSave the spot whereon my chest it stood.\"\n\nNo sooner she the words had said,\nThan proud Mettelil on the place was laid.\n\nAnd when she had come where stood the chest,\nStraight of two sons was she released.\n\nThat Sir Peter's mother so mortified,\nFull quickly of rage and spite she died.\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{14}  This is a much later, and greatly improved, version of the ballad\nwhich first appeared in _Romantic Ballads_, 1826, pp. 136-138, and\nafterwards in _Targum_, 1835, pp. 42-43.\n\n{16}  This ballad should be read in conjunction with _Rosmer_, printed in\n_The Mermaid's Prophecy_, _and other Songs relating to Queen Dagmar_,\n1913, pp. 25-30.\n\n{23}  This ballad should be compared with _The Wicked Stepmother_,\nprinted in _The Dalby Bear and Other Ballads_, 1913, pp. 14-20.","title":"Young Swaigder; or, The Force of Runes, and Other Ballads","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2561}