Sir Ebbe's Daughters

Sir Ebbe he built a lofty bower
That still his name has kept;
Where starlings sang and nightingales,
And where his daughters slept.

Sir Ebb to do his lord's behest
To Iceland needs must sail,
And gave those maidens the bower in charge,
And thence a dismal tale.

For with their mother a foul design
Sirs Scammel and Bonde planned.
How Ebbe's daughters they might win,
And how with scandal brand.

The younger brother was sore afraid
To do the maidens wrong;
"Sir Ebb a bitter revenge will take,
"And tarries not so long."

His mother jested at all his fears,
Her cheek with anger pale;
"There's not thy father's mood in thee,
"At danger so to quail.

"With none but little serving hoys
"The lonely hower is manned,
"And were they all in iron clad,
"'Gainst you they could not stand."

The morrow, soon as dawn'd the day,
They made their weapons bright,
And after sunset mounted horse,
And reach'd the bower at night.

And there those two discourteous knights
Broke through the chamber floor,
And all against the maidens' will
Came up within their bower.

They, starting from their tranquil sleep,
Look'd round in wild dismay,
For at their snowy sides reclined
Scammel and Bond lay.

In vain those maidens tried by turns
To melt their heart with tears;
By turns would threat their father's wrath.
And seek to move their fears.

The knights, ere shone abroad the sun.
Arose and went their way;
They thank'd the ladies for what they took.
But dared no longer stay.

Sorely the younger sister griev'd
Such insults on them shown;
"We'll leap into the lake at once,
"And sink us with a stone"

"Not so, the elder daughter spake
"Nay, my dear sister, nay!
"We'll wait till comes our father home,
"He'll venge it, if he may."

And now from Iceland home again
Sir Ebbe rows ashore,
And both his daughters come in tears
To meet him at his door.

"Welcome, dear gentle father home!
"But hear a dismal tale;
"Sirs Scammel and Bond have used us so,
"Our hair we now must veil."

As heard Sir Ebbe the mournful news,
There heav'd his breast a sigh;
"Bootless my journey, if blood of man
"Again my sword shall dye!"

"Our game they are, nor need hast thou
"Of whetted sword or mail;
"To wreak full vengeance for our wrongs
"Our own two hands avail."

As folk were going all to mass
On Yule tide's holy night.
Sir Ebbe's daughters started off
With daggers polish'd bright.

"What ails Sir Ebbe's daughters twain,
"That they attire them so?
"And why without these naked blades
"To church can they not go?"

Scornful the Lady Mettelille
Smiled, as she saw them pass;
"Rise, ladies, rise, my sons' two wives
"Would in to hear a mass."

Sirs Bonde and Scammel forward went
At th' altar step to kneel;
Signild and Trunde came behind
Close following them at heel.

On northside in the weapon house
Trunde her dagger drew,
And south in front of the altar light
The base Sir Bonded slew.

On northside near the altar stop
Fair Signild drew her knife,
And at the church-door down below
Sir Scammel lost his life.

"Now see two widows here we stand,
"At least they shared our bed;
"Take up your sons, a dainty meal
"To eat with salt and bread."

Stain'd with that blood stood Hoiby church
For seven long years in ban.
Nor sermon all that time was preach'd.
Nor buried there a man.

They built a chapel on Helen's hill,
And there folk went to pray,
Until their sorrow moved the Pope
To take his ban away.