the maid.”

“O I’m betrothed to one as fair
   In Ostland realms already;
For seven tons of ruddy gold
   I would not prove unsteady.

“But build before your Hovdingsey
   A house upon the mead,
And there to Danish pilgrims give
   Good wine and best of bread.”

So Danish pilgrims there they give
   Good wine and best of bread;
They pray for brave Swayne Felding’s soul,
   He now has long been dead.

INNOCENCE DEFAMED

Misfortune comes to every door,
   And who can hope to ’scape its might?
And that can little Kirstine say,
   And none alas with greater right.

It was the good Sir Peter, he
   At fall of eve came home from Ting;
And it was little Kirstine fair,
   That fell the knight to welcoming.

“Now welcome, welcome home from Ting,
   Most welcome thou my father dear;
Whilst thou at Ting this day didst stand
   Didst any news or tiding hear?”

“Enough of tidings I have heard,
   To break my heart however sound;
Thy plighted youth has thee forsworn
   Because thy name was bandied round.

“Thy plighted youth has thee forsworn,
   And none can blame the youth I ween;
For eight long years it seems thou hast
   A murdress and a harlot been.”

“Now do thou hear, my father dear,
   Such wicked rumours thou shouldst scorn;
For thus is many a virtuous maid
   Of fame and honor daily shorn.”

“And do thou hear, my daughter dear,
   Thou shalt confess it to thy sorrow;
This evening thou shalt gather wood,
   And burn upon that wood tomorrow.”

And so they took the fair Kirstine,
   And her arrayed in scarlet weed;
And mournfully they lifted her
   Upon the grey and lofty steed.

It was little Kirstine fair,
   She reached at last the verdant wold;
“Now bless’d be God on high that dwells,
   My bride-bed yonder I behold.

“So red, red are my bridal sheets,
   My bridal bolsters are so blue,
The knights who thus their daughters wed
   I hope and trust are very few.”

And so they took the little Kirstine,
   And bade her sit a stump upon:
Then forward stepped her plighted youth,
   And her yellow hair he has undone.

“Now do thou hear, my plighted maid,
   I rede thee be of blythesome cheer,
For thou, I ween, dost here perceive
   Thy bride-bed and thy funeral bier.”

When she had sat a little space
   No longer there she cared to wait;
Now stand thou up, Sir Archbishop,
   And Kirstine’s bride-bed consecrate.

The little Kirstine then they took
   And midst the roaring blazes threw;
The fire recoiled on every side,
   So fair and bright she stood to view.

“I thank the God who me has helped,
   The God who made the earth and sky;
Now to a cloister I will go,
   And serve my master till I die.”

And thither little Kirstine went,
   And with her all her maidens fair;
Her father and her plighted youth,
   They quickly died of grief and care.

And now within the cloister wall
   The beauteous little Kirstine goes;
So joyous o’er her yellow hair
   The veil so long and black she throws.

* * * * *

London:
Printed for THOMAS J.