full eight days she has not ate.
   She longed so much for thee.”

Outspake the laidly carlish Count,
   And thus the Count did cry:
“O, call ye in my serving swains,
   Bid them come instantly.

“Go, fetch me hither the hammer of gold,
   Glad I’ll surrender it;
If I can either in honour or shame,
   Of such a young bride be quit.”

The Kempions eight in number were,
   Who the hammer brought on a tree;
They laid it down so courteously
   Across the young bride’s knee.

It was then the youthful bride
   Took up the hammer big;
I tell to ye for a verity
   She swung it like a twig.

First she slew the carlish count,
   That throld both laid and tall;
And then as they strove to ’scape through the door,
   She slew the little trolds all.

The guests and the Norland men each one
   So downcast were of mood;
Blows from the hand of the bride they got
   That robbed their cheeks of blood.

It was Lokke Leyemand,
   He opened his mouth in game:
“Now we will fare to our country home,
   And our sire a widow proclaim.”

FROM THE ARABIC

O thou who fain would’st wisdom gain,
   Live night and day untired;
For by repeated toil and pain
   It is alone acquired.

THORVALD
Svend Tveskjeg havde sig en Maud

   Swayne Tveskieg did a man possess,
      Sir Thorvald hight;
   Though fierce in war, kind acts in peace
      Were his delight.
   From port to port his vessels fast
      Sailed wide around,
   And made, where’er they anchor cast,
      His name renown’d.
But Thorvald has freed his King.

   Prisoners he bought—clothes, liberty,
      On them bestowed,
   And sent men home from slavery
      To their abode.
  

And many an old man got his boy,
      His age’s stay;
   And many a maid her youth’s sole joy,
      Her lover gay.
But Thorvald has freed his King.

   A brave fight Thorvald loved full dear,
      For brave his mood;
   But never did he dip his spear
      In feeble blood.
   He followed Swayne to many a fray
      With war-shield bright,
   And his mere presence scar’d away
      Foul deeds of might.
But Thorvald has freed his King.

   They hoist sail on the lofty mast,
      It was King Swayne,
   He o’er the bluey billows pass’d
      With armed train.
  

His mind to harry Bretland [13a] boiled;
      He leapt on shore
   And every, every thing recoiled
      His might before.
But Thorvald has freed his King.

   Yet slept not Bretland’s chieftain good;
      He speedily
   Collected a host in the dark wood
      Of cavalry.
   And evil through that subtle plan
      Befell the Dane;
   They were ta’en prisoners every man,
      And last King Swayne.
But Thorvald has freed his King.

   “Now hear thou prison-foogd!