Olger on the verdant wold
   With Diderik battle join’d;
To fight they went, no jest they meant,
   So wroth were they in mind.

Endured for three long days the fray,
   And flinch would neither side;
To help his lord each Dane his sword
   In desperation plied.

Down ran the blood, like raging flood
   Which ’neath steep hills doth pour;
Then tribute they were forced to pay
   Who tribute asked before.

Rose in the sky the blood-reek high,
   And dimmed the lustrous sun;
’Twas sad to spy the brave men lie
   So thick the earth upon.

In gore lay thick both men and steeds,
   Dear friends were parted there;
All did not laugh the feast who sought,
   Too hot they found the fare.

Now tamer grown, the Berner Jutt
   Thought thus himself within:
“Of us a hundred scarce remain,
   We cannot hope to win.”

Then took he to his heels and ran,
   Not often back looked he;
To say good night forgot Swerting quite,
   For Bern, for Bern they flee.

Then Diderik turned him with a shout
   That shook the vaulted skies:
“Bern, Bern’s the place for us, I guess,
   For here no refuge lies!”

Then answered ’neath the green hill’s side
   The son of Verland keen:
“Ye and your host will little boast
   Ye have in Denmark been.”

Full eighteen thousand knights were they
   When out they marched from Bern;
Wounded and worn but seventy-five
   With drooping crests, return.

OLGER THE DANE AND BURMAN

Burman in the mountain holds,
   Makes his shield shine brightly there;
A message he sends to Iceland’s King,
   For he has a daughter fair.

“Hear, good King of Iceland, hear,
   Hear what now I say to thee:
Give to me thy daughter fair,
   And divide thy land with me.

“Either yield thy daughter fair,
   And divide with me thy land,
Or the warrior good prepare
   Who in fight can me withstand.”

“I have daughter none but one,
   Damsel Gloriant her they call;
To King Carvel she’s betrothed,
   And in him my trust is all.

“I have given her to a King
   And King Carvel hight is he;
If he fail to defend the maid,
   Then thy booty she shall be.”

’Twas the King of Iceland good,
   To his daughter’s bower he goes;
And the Damsel Gloriant
   To receive him gently rose.

“Hear, all dearest daughter mine,
   For I bring thee tidings new;
Burman in the mountain holds,
   He would win thee and doth woo.

“Burman is a kempion dour,
   And of jesting nought he knows;
He will surely have thee soon,
   If no warrior him oppose.”

It was Damsel Gloriant,
   Silent would no longer stand:
“In our tower a prisoner is
   Who will Burman take in hand.”

It was Damsel Gloriant,
   Her blue mantle o’er her threw;
Swiftly to the prison tower,
   Where the prisoners lay she flew.

It was Damsel Gloriant,
   ’Bove the prisoners all she cried:
“Hear thou, Olger good, the Dane,
   Have thy legs yet power to stride?

“Art thou living, Olger Dane?
   I have something to impart;
There is a trold for me that lusts,
   And that trold is Burman swart.

“I’ll not wed the