here,”
      Thus Carl was told;
  

“If we can drive him back agen,
      We now must try!”
   And it was Peter Colbiornsen
      Made that reply.
Thus for Norroway fight the Norsemen.

   Lo! from the town the flames outburst,
      High-minded men!
   And he who fired his house the first
      Was Colbiornsen.
   Eager to quench the fire, the foes
      Make quick resort,
   But bullets fell as fast as snows
      Down from the fort.
Thus for Norroway fight the Norsemen.

   Now rose the blazes toward the sky,
      Red, terrible,
   His heroes’ death the King thereby
      Could see right well.
  

Sir Peter’s word he then made good,
      His host retires;
   But in his path the steen it stood,
      And on him fires.
Thus for Norroway fight the Norsemen.

   Magnificent ’midst corse and blood
      Glowed Frederekshal;
   Illum’d its own men’s courage proud,
      And Swedesmen’s fall.
   Whoe’er saw pile funereal flame
      So bright as then?
   Sure never shall expire thy name,
      O Colbiornsen!
Thus for Norroway fight the Norsemen.

KRAGELILL

’Twas noised about, ’twas noised about,
   Full far ’twas noised I ween;
King Sigurd has his daughter lost,
   She stolen from him has been.

It was gallant King Sigurd then
   His bonnet he put on;
And he away to the high, high hall
   To his courtmen and knights is gone.

They cast the die upon the board,
   The die it rolled around;
It fell upon Regnfred, the King’s son,
   He to seek the maid is bound.

About the world for one winter,
   And for winters five he sought;
But he in all that weary tide
   Could hear of the maiden nought.

It was Regnfred, the King’s son,
   Through the green wood rode his way;
And there met him a little stranger lad,
   About the break of day.

“Now do thou hear, thou stranger lad,
   All that I say to thee;
The very next maid that thou know’st of
   Do thou shew unto me.”

“And do thou hear, thou fair young swain
   I pray I may not offend,
But the very next maid that I know of
   Sir Tabor’s goats doth tend.

“Her kirtle is of kid-skin made,
   Her mantle of wadmal grey,
Her locks, which shine like gleamy gold,
   Adown her shoulders stray.”

Then he rode o’er the meadows green,
   And through the brake and thorn,
And there did he the maiden find,
   She drove her goats from the corn.

He took her tenderly in his arm,
   Kissed her on her cheek so fair:
“I entreat thee now by the highest God,
   Thy father to me declare.”

“An ancient man my father is,
   Tends goats in the morass;
Kragelill I myself am called,
   Can I boast of my birth, alas!”

It was Regnfred, the King’s son,
   In haste drew out his knife:
“Thou shalt to me thy father name,
   Or thou shall lose thy life.”

“Sigurd the King my father is,
   His Queen my mother dear;
And I myself am Swanelill,
   Name fitting for me to bear.”