Mar Stig (No. 8)

Report is rife in all the land
Ranild at last is caught;
He surely had never gone from Hieira,
His doom had he bethought;
A death of torture he must die,
As he has long been taught.

Ranild he stepped within the door,
Good evening' bade the king,
And all the guard of gentlemen,
Who round him stood in ring;
"Christ! may no son of loyal Dane
"Such trouble on him bring!

"But, King Erick, noble liege,
"Remember you no more;
"The best was I of all the swains
"Your father's livery wore;
"And you through wood and flowery mead
"In arms so often bore?"

"Full well I know thou servedst here
"For clothes and food and pay;
"And, like a vile and treacherous knave,
"My father didst betray;
"For which the stake thy carcase bears,
"If I but reign a day."

"My hands and feet hack from my limbs,
"Tear from my head these eyes;
"With racking tortures martyr me,
"The worst you can devise;
"So much the wrong I've done your house
"For vengeance on me cries."

"Thine eyes put out, that will we not,
"Nor lop thy hands or feet;
"But with a traitor's hardest death
"The worst of traitors treat;
"And on our father's murderer take
"Such vengeance as is meet."

As forth from Roskilde he was led,
He wrung his hands anew,
And tears to see him go to die
Wept ladies not a few;
He turn'd him round, and bade them all
A thousand times Adieu.

They led him forth to where the rack
Stood ghastly on the plain;
"Christ, from such a martyring death
"Protect each honest Dane!
"Had I but stay'd at Hielra this year,
"And there in safety lain!

"Now were there here one faithful friend,
"Who home for me would go,
"And would my sorrowing wife Christine,
"Her path of duty show!
"Christ, look on my children dear!
"O comfort thou their woe!

"And you, I pray, good Christian folk,
"Who here are standing round,
"A Pater noster read for me,
"That grace for me be found;
"And that this night I reach the land,
"Where heavenly, joys abound."