“’Gainst the shield I ill shall fight
   Which the tongs and hammer shows.

“’Gainst the shield I ill shall fight
   Which the tongs and hammer bears,
This day I am doomed to die,
   For fierce Vidrik no one spares.

“Heathen wight, and Christian knight,
   I would fight with glad and fain;
Only not with Verland’s son,
   For from him I scathe must gain.”

Ha! Hurrah! the Vendel King
   In his steed the rowels drove;
Desperate he at Vidrik went,
   Desperate he to fell him strove.

Bravely done, thou Vendel King,
   Fast and hard thy strokes are plied
E’en to his good saddle bow
   Vidrik stoops his helm of pride.

“I’ve from thee borne eighteen blows,
   They are, Sir, nor more nor fewer,
For thy kingly honor now
   But one blow from me endure.”

“If thou eighteen blows hast borne
   Be they fewer or be they more,
I’ll the self-same number take,
   Gift of love can break their power.”

Forth a silken thread he drew
   Tied it round his helm of gold:
“My heart’s dear shall never hear
   Blow of blacksmith laid me cold.”

Vidrik spake to Mimmering:
   “Show thou’rt yet for something good;
I can say for fifteen years
   I more fiercely have not hew’d.”

Grasped he then the hilt so hard
   From his nails that blood outstarted,
On the Monarch’s helm he hew’d,
   To the navel him he parted.

Shouted Vidrik Verlandson,
   Standing on the verdant height:
“Be there one of all your host
   Who has further wish to fight?”

Now the Brattens Vendel King
   Lies out pouring blood like water:
Vengeance now has Ulf Van Yern,
   Vengeance for his father’s slaughter.

It was youthful Hammergray
   Glanced around the bloody field:
“So like mice in their first sleep
   Hushed the foemen lie, and still’d.”

Gladly back with Ulf Van Yern
   Rode the Dane King’s chivalry;
For his sire avenged he thanked
   Vidrik oft and fervently.

THE CHOSEN KNIGHT

Sir Oluf rode forth over hill and lea
   Full seven mile broad and seven mile wide,
But no one living discovered he
   Who a joust with him dare ride.

He saw, whilst forward glancing,
A gallant knight advancing,
Black was his courser, his helm was lac’d,
He came with bounding haste.

Upon his spurs all gory
Twelve gilded birdies bore he;
Each time with the rowel he pricked his horse
The birdies sang with all their force.

Twelve gilt wheels on his bridle
He bore, nor were they idle;
Each time through them the breezes blew,
How quickly around the little wheels flew.

He carried before his breast
A long lance, placed in rest;
Far sharper than diamond was that lance,
It laid Sir Oluf in deadly trance.

Aloft on his helm he show’d
   A chaplet of red glare;
Three maidens in proof of their love bestow’d,
   The youngest was so fair.

Sir Oluf enquired of the knight,
An he were come down from the realms of light:
“Art thou the Christ, for if thou be,
I’ll willingly bend before thee the knee?”

“I am not the Christ of power,
Thou need’st not before me cower;
An unknown knight thou see’st in me,
Sent forth by three maids of high degree.”

“If thou be a chosen knight
   Whom maidens three have sent this