Mar Stig's Daughters

Mar Stig left orphan daughters two,
Sad fate had they to undergo.
The elder took the younger's hand.
And wide they round the world must roam.

The elder took the younger's hand,
And so they went to Sweden's land.
King Byrge home from Sessions came,
So wide they round the world must roam.

King Byrge home from Sessions came.
And there they stood his alms to claim.

"What girls are these before my gate?
"What do ye waiting here so late?"

"Mar Swig's two orphan daughters we,
"We sue to you for charity/'

"Out of my yard then both the two!
"Your father Stig my uncle slew."

"We're not for Erick's death to blame,
"'Twas but to earn our bread we came."

The elder took the younger's hand,
And so they went to Norway's land.

King Erick home from Sessions came,
And there they stood his alms to claim.

"What two poor women then are you?
"What are you hither come to do?"

"Mar Stig's two orphan daughters we,
"And sue to you for charity."

"Now tell me, can ye bake and brew,
"Or other useful service do?"

"Nay, we can neither bake nor brew,
"Such menial work we cannot do;

"But from our mother, who is dead,
"We've learnt to spin the golden thread.

"Brocade too we can weave, as fine
"As could the Queen's own maids design;

"But spinning gold and weaving wool,
"Have hearts with sorrow always full;

"And since we both our parents mourn,
"Wear cloaks so threadbare, old, and torn.

"Were still Mar Stig alive at home,
"To such distress we had not come.

"Were not our poor dear mother dead,
"We needed not to beg our bread."

King Erick spake in kindest tone,
"I've long and well your father known;

"A ready man of tongue and hand,
"As one might find in Danish land."

He clad them both in scarlet pall,
And led them up to the ladies' hall.

Their grief he bade them now restrain,
In him their father find again.

With broider'd work the younger strove
To fill the web her sister wove.

Her skilful hand the task begun
With th' Holy Virgin and her Son;

But on the second piece was seen
With ladies round her Norway's queen;

And next the antler'd stag and doe,
And then herself so pale with woe.

With equal grace and skill she wove
The angels in the skies above.

She took the work from off the frame,
And knelt before the royal dame.

"Would that you stood in mother's stead!"
And bitter were the tears she shed;

"Did we a mother find in you,
"Tay we might earn and honour too.

"One single piece still leaves us poor,
"And long must we our lot endure."

The elder one on sickbed lay,
The younger nurs'd her night and day.

The elder died and found relief.
The younger lived in pain and grief;

Till on the maid so fair and good
The king his youngest son bestow'd;

With him she found a rank and home,
Nor needed more the world to roam.