castles so grand,
Because that my life thou dost hold in thy hand.

To my daughter so dear my red gold I bequeath,
For she shall cause vengeance be ta’en for my death.

I give to Queen Sophy my silver-cased knife,
Because she it was who betrayed my young life.

O Buris! God give thee misery smart,
Enveloped with care the most black is my heart.

And now I’ve my testament made to my mind,
Dear brother, prove towards me forgiving and kind.

I to Christ give my soul, may he shew it good grace,
There’s no one, I trow, cares for me in this place.”

She bade all good night that around her she spied.
And all for the damsel so piteously cried.

For her wept every dame, for her wept every maid,
All wept save Sophia, that vile wicked jade.

Then yielded the roselet her innocent sprite,
To God she commended it as it took flight.

O then was King Vald’mar with sorrow opprest,
And wildly his heart ’gan to knock in his breast.

“What a hard hearted wretch thou, O Sophy, must be,
That thou her distress without pity could see.

Shame upon thee, thou basest of all womankind,
Thou now hast obtained the great wish of thy mind.

Alack! well a day, my dear sister is dead;
Now where shall we bury the rose-flower red?”

“In Riber street, Sir, let thy flower repose,
That o’er her may tread every day my horse-shoes.”

“O never shalt thou have the joy, that thy horse
Shall tread o’er the ground which concealth her corse.

To Vestervig’s cloister her corse shall be sent,
O’er her shall be placed a red brick monument.”

He caused her be buried with grandeur and state,
All the days of his life the King sighed for her fate.

“Now I will retire to a chamber of gloom,
A chamber which fire nor light shall illume.

There ne’er shall the blest sun on me cast its ray,
Till I’ve through repentance my sins wiped away.”

To his page the King spake with so serious an air:
“Command thou Sir Buris to me to repair.

“Hark, hark thou, Sir Knight, what I now say to thee,
How hast thou been found in thy duty to me?

I left thee a vine-yard for thee to watch o’er,
Therein hast thou done me an injury sore.

The loveliest vine in the vineyard that stood,
That hast thou destroyed to thy own little good.”

Sir Buris he fell on his knee ’fore the King:
“My dear lord and master, O pardon this thing.”

“No, thou too shalt suffer both torment and shame,
To a sharp shameful death through thy treachery she came.”

“The cruellest death ye for me can invent,
To thou for the beautiful maid I’m content.”

“Let the eyes of the horse-thief be torn from his head,
Because he the beautiful damsel betray’d.”

They’ve torn from the sockets Sir Buris’s eyes,
In spite of Queen Sophy’s entreaties and cries.

Sir Buris’ right hand, and Sir Buris’ left foot,
King Valdemar caused to be hewn off to boot.

From the Castle the knight they led forth on the green,
In mockery and scoff of Sophia the Queen.

“Behold now thy brother, that lord great and fine,
Who fain as a prince and a monarch would shine!”

The Dane-king a fetter has caused to be made,
On Buris in Vestervig cloister ’twas laid.

For eleven long years there was Sir Buris confin’d,
Each day to her grave went the knight lame and blind.