Ebbe Skammelson

Skammel he dwells up north in Ty,
And Skammel is rich and gay;
Five sons hath he both fair and tall,
But two went an evil way.
—Therefore roams Ebbe Skammelson so many a lonely way.

Sir Ebbe serves for fame and fee
The royal court within,
While Peter his brother that bides at home
His true-love’s troth would win.

“Dost sit at home, proud Adelus,
And broider my brother’s gear?
Ebbe he serves in the King’s own court,
And scorns thee, nor holds thee dear!”

“Full well do I know him, Ebbe,
And Ebbe his heart knows he;
And scorns he never a maiden proud
The less hath he scorn for me!”

“Now lithe and listen, proud Adelus,
And be my plighted maid!
For true I tell thee the tidings
That Ebbe my brother is dead.”

All on the self-same evening
They drank to the plighted pair;
All on the Monday after
To bridal-feast they fare.

It was Ebbe Skammelson
At midnight did awake,
And he up and called to the nearest swain
And of his dream he spake.

“Methought that my stone-built tower
Stood all in a leaping lowe,
And Peter my brother burned therein,
And my fair love alsò.”

“And didst thou dream thy tower of stone
Stood all in a lowe so red,
Then know, that Peter thy brother
Thine own fair love doth wed.”

It was Ebbe Skammelson
That girt his sword by his side,
And leave he won, Sir Ebbe,
Homeward in haste to ride.

It was Ebbe Skammelson
That paused not on his way;
He came to his father’s castle
All on the bridal-day.

Forth they come, his sisters twain,
With bracelets on either hand:
“Now welcome, Ebbe our brother,
Home to thy father’s land!”

“Now lithe and listen, my sisters twain,
And look that ye do not lie!
Say wherefore are gathering hither
This goodly companie?”

Up spake his youngest sister,
For needs must the words be said:
“Lo! ’tis Peter thy brother
Thine own true-love doth wed!”

To one he has given a brooch for her breast,
To the other a ring for her hand:
“Oh, I brought them both to my own true-love
Out of the strangers’ land!”

The one she has bidden him bide at home,
The other has bidden him go:
“For dost thou tarry here o’er this night
Be sure it will work us woe!”

Ebbe he turned his horse’s head
Forth from the hold to ride,
But his mother she seized the bridal-rein
And begged him at home to bide.

His mother all to the highest place
Hath brought him cushion and chair,
His father hath brought him a cup of wine
To pledge the bridal-pair.

He pledged them in the mead so brown
And in the red, red wine,
But when he looked upon the bride
The tears ran from his eyne.

Now when the dew was falling
And even was well-nigh sped,
Up she rose, the beauteous bride,
To seek the bridal-bed.

They followed her, the beauteous bride,
All to her chamber door;
Foremost went Ebbe Skammelson
To hold the torch before.

All to the door of the upper room
Ebbe the bride led he:
“Hast thou forgot, proud Adelus,
The troth thou didst plight to me?”

“All the troth I plighted thee
Is given to Peter thy brother;
But each and every day I live
I’ll be to thee e’en as a mother!”

“I wooed thee not for my mother,
I wooed thee for my wife!
For this shall Peter Skammelson
Yield up to me his life!

“Lithe and listen, proud Adelus,
And fly from the land with me!
Peter my brother I’ll slay eftsoon,
And bear the blame for thee.”

“And wilt thou slay Peter thy brother eftsoon
I never will be thy wage!
And thou shalt sorrow thyself to death
Like a wild bird in a cage.”

It was Ebbe Skammelson
That drew his brand so brown;
It was haughty Adelus
That he to earth struck down.

Oh, he has hidden the bloody brand
Beneath his cloak of pall;
He’s sought his brother Sir Peter
That sat in the stone-built hall.

“Now harken, Peter Skammelson,
A laggard art thou to wed!
The bride is longing after thee
All in the bridal-bed.”

It was Peter his brother
Spake up with mickle spite:
“I give thee leave with right good-will
To sleep by the bride to-night!”

It was Ebbe Skammelson
That drew his brand so brown;
It was Peter his brother
That he to earth struck down.

Oh, he has wounded his father sore,
And struck off his mother’s hand;
And so must he roam, Ebbe Skammelson,
The wild ways of the land!
—Therefore roams Ebbe Skammelson so many a lonely way.