| |
| SVEND DYRING he rideth adown the glade; | |
| I myself was young! | |
| There he hath wooed him so winsome a maid; | |
| Fair words gladden so many a heart. | |
| |
| Together were they for seven years, | 5 |
| And together children six were theirs. | |
| |
| Then came Death abroad through the land, | |
| And blighted the beautiful lily-wand. | |
| |
| Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade, | |
| And again hath he wooed him another maid. | 10 |
| |
| He hath wooed him a maid and brought home a bride, | |
| But she was bitter and full of pride. | |
| |
| When she came driving into the yard, | |
| There stood the six children weeping so hard. | |
| |
| There stood the small children with sorrowful heart; | 15 |
| From before her feet she thrust them apart. | |
| |
| She gave to them neither ale nor bread; | |
| “Ye shall suffer hunger and hate,” she said. | |
| |
| She took from them their quilts of blue, | |
| And said: “Ye shall lie on the straw we strew.” | 20 |
| |
| She took from them the great waxlight: | |
| “Now ye shall lie in the dark at night.” | |
| |
| In the evening late they cried with cold; | |
| The mother heard it under the mould. | |
| |
| The woman heard it the earth below: | 25 |
| “To my little children I must go.” | |
| |
| She standeth before the Lord of all: | |
| “And may I go to my children small?” | |
| |
| She prayed him so long, and would not cease, | |
| Until he bade her depart in peace. | 30 |
| |
| “At cock-crow thou shalt return again; | |
| Longer thou shalt not there remain!” | |
| |
| She girded up her sorrowful bones, | |
| And rifted the walls and the marble stones. | |
| |
| As through the village she flitted by, | 35 |
| The watch-dogs howled aloud to the sky. | |
| |
| When she came to the castle gate, | |
| There stood her eldest daughter in wait. | |
| |
| “Why standest thou here, dear daughter mine? | |
| How fares it with brothers and sisters thine?” | 40 |
| |
| “Never art thou mother of mine, | |
| For my mother was both fair and fine. | |
| |
| “My mother was white, with cheeks of red, | |
| But thou art pale, and like to the dead.” | |
| |
| “How should I be fair and fine? | 45 |
| I have been dead; pale cheeks are mine. | |
| |
| “How should I be white and red, | |
| So long, so long have I been dead?” | |
| |
| When she came in at the chamber door, | |
| There stood the small children weeping sore. | 50 |
| |
| One she braided, another she brushed, | |
| The third she lifted, the fourth she hushed. | |
| |
| The fifth she took on her lap and pressed, | |
| As if she would suckle it at her breast. | |
| |
| Then to her eldest daughter said she, | 55 |
| “Do thou bid Svend Dyring come hither to me.” | |
| |
| Into the chamber when he came | |
| She spake to him in anger and shame. | |
| |
| “I left behind me both ale and bread; | |
| My children hunger and are not fed. | 60 |
| |
| “I left behind me quilts of blue; | |
| My children lie on the straw ye strew. | |
| |
| “I left behind me the great waxlight; | |
| My children lie in the dark at night. | |
| |
| “If I come again unto your hall, | 65 |
| As cruel a fate shall you befall! | |
| |
| “Now crows the cock with feathers red; | |
| Back to the earth must all the dead. | |
| |
| “Now crows the cock with feathers swart; | |
| The gates of heaven fly wide apart. | 70 |
| |
| “Now crows the cock with feathers white; | |
| I can abide no longer to-night.” | |
| |
| Whenever they heard the watch-dogs wail, | |
| They gave the children bread and ale. | |
| |
| Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bay, | 75 |
| They feared lest the dead were on their way. | |
| |
| Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bark, | |
| I myself was young! | |
| They feared the dead out there in the dark. | |
| Fair words gladden so many a heart. | 80 |
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