Torkild Trundeson

Young Torkild as brave a swain is he,
As sword ever girt on side,
And every day, that dawns in th' east.
He mounts on his horse to ride.

He rides as early to greenwood glade,
As twitter the birds on tree,
And Adelaide, gentle maid, betrothes,
And daintily fair is she.

He rides to Sir Lave's to hunt the deer
That over his forest roam.
And eke to Adelaide plights his vow
To wed her and bring her home.

And there with her Torkild stay'd a night,
And there he stay'd for two.
And nobody ask'd, why there he came,
And what he did nobody knew.

None ask'd Sir Torkild why there he came,
And what he did nobody knew.
Except fair Adelaide/s waiting maid.
And Torkild's servants two.

His bride to his heart he warmly press'd,
And talked to her long with glee:
Sad pity it is, when those must part,
Who fain together would be.

"But, Torkild," up spake the waiting maid.
In duty and honour taught;
"Take care that upon my lady's fame
"No stain of disgrace be brought."

"Nay," answered young Torkild Trundeson,
With solemnest tone and face;
"Nay, trust me, Eline, thou faithful maid,
"I bring her to no disgrace."

Young Torkild has bidden them cut her clothes,
As e'en she would have them made;
And every seam in his lady's dress
With tissue of gold belaid.

So rich with gold and so tastefully wrought
Her robes to the bride were shown;
"God's blessing" said she," on the tailors all,
"Whose fingers the dress have sewn!

"God bless them, the tailors, all and each,
"Who hand on the dress did lay!
"God bless above all my Trundeson,
The cost of it he must pay!"

The king at his court a diet held,
Bade every knight attend,
Yet came not Torkild Trundeson,
Till just at the diet's end.

It was on a Sunday, after mass,
That solemnest holy tide.
Young Torkild Trundeson mounted horse,
Away to the king to ride.

Young Torkild he rode within the court.
The foremost his swains among;
The king from his lips would hear the truth;
"Where tarried hast thou so long?"

"I rode to the wood with hawk and hound,
"The game for a while I chased,
"And every sportsman, who hunts the deer,
"Is tempted the time to waste."

"Thou ridest so long in greenwood sLaw
"A chasing Sir Lave's game,
"The deer, thou lovest so well to chase,
"The hunter himself will maim.

"Some better pastime I'll find for thee
"Than chasing Sir Lave's deer;
"Sir Esbern Snar and thou shalt hence,
"And over to Iceland steer."

Then answered young Torkild Trundeson,
With courteous humble mien;
"I gladly would now at home remain,
"As oft as I there have been."

The king of the Danes his answer heard,
And struck with his hand the board,
And moody and silent he stood awhile
To think upon Torkild's word.

"I ween there are those will pity feel,
"And often will think on thee;
"Make ready, young Torkild Trundeson,
"To Iceland to sail for me."

Right deftly could Torkild Trundeson
His words to the purpose bend;
"'Tis you are my lord, and I your swain,
"I go whither you may send."

It was on a Sunday, the hour of prayer,
A holy and solemn fete,
He sent his swain to the village priest
To beg him for him to wait.

Uprose young Torkild Trundeson,
Bade saddle his trusty gray,
And rode across to the selfsame church,
Where Adelaide went to pray.

He entered the church, young Trundeson,
And up to the altar drew.
And greeted the ladies and gentle maids
With honour to ladies due.

He talk'd to the matrons and eke the maids,
As each in her turn came near,
He talk'd to Adelaide first and last.
For she was the one most dear.

"Now who for the king to Iceland sails?
"Say, mother, who that shall be."
"None other than Torkild Trundeson,
"The gallant so dear to thee."

"I care for Torkild no more nor less
"Than just any other swain:
"God grant that I live the happy day
To see him at home again!")

The holy mass to the end they sung,
The rest of the people went,
But still some moments in sweet discourse
Those lovers so gladly spent.

"Now, Adelaide, listen, my gentle bride,
"No reason hast thou to wail,
"I leave thee for but a few short months,
"And only to Iceland sail.

"So short a voyage is quickly sped,
"To Iceland the time is brief."
"Yet seemeth the shortest time too long,
"To those who are left in grief."

And only when Torkild mounted horse
Did Adelaide leave his side,
And turned her back to her home again,
And bitterly wept and sigh'd.

With sorrowing hearts that youthful pair
Had bidden each other adieu,
And soon unmoor'd was the gallant ship,
And kindly the breeze that blew.

No more than four of his faithful swains
Took Torkild across the main;
"Ye others will stay to guard my bride,
"Till hither I come again."

They hoisted on high the silken sail
To float from the gilded mast;
From Denmark to Iceland's distant shore
In only two months they pass'd.

The wind blew steady, the ship sped on,
The waves were sporting around.
But moody sat Torkild Trundeson,
Nor utter'd his lips a sound.

Then up Sir Esbern Snar spake,
And slily he framed his speech;
"One would not have thought the sea so rough,
"As Trundeson's cheek to bleach."

"I'm ready to sail a sea with thee,
"And a thousand guilders stake;
"And ready with thee to break a spear
"For all good lasses sake/'

They came to the port, and anchor threw
Ont into the glittering sand;
Sir Esbern Snar and Trundeson
Were foremost to leap on land.

They stopp'd as they crossed the castle yard,
Around them their cloaks to fling,
And up to the lofty chamber went,
And bow'd them before the king.

"Hail King of Iceland, in royal state
"Here sitting at banquet board!
"The king of the Danes a brief has sent,
"And in it his royal word."

The king of Iceland the letter brake,
And when he had read it all,
Took out from his pouch a little knife,
And cut it to morsels small.

And wrathful the king of Iceland spake.
The more he the matter weighed;
"Has ever been known a swain so poor
"To wed with so rich a maid?

"Now listen, young Torkild Trundeson,
"I'm well acquainted with thee;
"Seven barrels of silver it was so bright,
"Thy father assess on me.

"Seven barrels of silver it was so bright,
"Thy father assessed on me,
"And eight as full of the purest gold
"I take not to pay for thee."

"But," answer'd young Torkild Trundeson,
As boldly as he might dare,
"The guilt of wrongs that a father wrought,
"Tis hard that a son should bear"

"Nay, hark thee, young Torkild Trundeson,
"B'or how does the proverb run?
"The little pigs pay, and make amends,
"For what th' old sow has done."

"But," answered young Torkild Trundeson,
"There is also an ancient saw,
"That smallest puppies in time grow up
"With sharpset teeth in their jaw."

The troopers they all their furlough gain'd
Off homeward to wend their way.
Save only young Torkild Trundeson,
And he must in Iceland stay.

The troopers they all might go on board.
And each to his trulove hie.
But he young Torkild should stay behind.
And down in the dungeon die.

Young Torkild Trundeson him they seized.
And into a dungeon threw;
His thoughts were on ladies and maidens fair.
But most on his bride so true.

The king's men all stood looking on
In anger and grief around,
As Torkild, their comrade, so was seiz'd,
And left in a dungeon bound.

Then up spake Torkild's own small page,
Array'd in a kirtle red,
"I'll either with Torkild home return,
"Or stay with him here till dead."

"Now listen, Sir Esbern, and kindly do
"The favour I ask of thee;
"To Adelaide give a thousand adieus,
"And pray her to think on me.

"And tell her to dance as she used, and sing,
"And bid her be blithe and gay;
"I trust to wed her, and bring her home
"In less than a year and day."

Their silken sail on a gilded yard.
They out to the breezes spread.
And thence in less than two short months
They over to Denmark sped.

The gallant Sir Esbern, he it was
The foremost debark'd on land.
And Adelaide, she the gentle maid.
Who gave him her snowy hand.

"Oh welcome, Sir Esbern, welcome home!
"Now tell me, but tell me true;
"How fares young Torkild Trundeson,
"Who sail'd from the land with you?"

"Young Torkild is serving the Iceland king,
"Is serving for rank and fee;
"He sends you, his dearest, a thousand adieus,
"And true to his vows will be.

"He bids you will neither lament nor wail,
"But still be as blithe and gay,
"And trusts to fetch you to share his home
"In less than a year and day."

The gentle Adelaide made reply,
With weeping and downcast eyne;
"Our heavenly father guide our fate,
"That Torkild may yet be mine."

Up answer'd Trundeson's own small page
In kirtle so red array'd;
"He's still upon Iceland's frosty shore
"In dungeon and darkness laid."

"And is then Torkild on Iceland's isle,
"And sitting in dungeon cell?
"For my sake it was, too well I know,
"That him this fate befell.

"In durance is Torkild Trundeson?
"In fetters of iron set?
"I'll venture my own for Torkild's life,
"Him never will I forget."

Sir Stephen Jonson, out near the Sound,
Bade saddle on horse to lay,
"I'll ride to Sir Lave's across the land
"A visit to him to pay.

"My greeting, Sir Lave, noble knight,
"In raiment of sable drest!
"Fair Adelaide give me to be my wife,
"The daughter you love the best."

Then answered Sir Lave, and thus replied.
His thoughts in his bosom pent,
"I first will ask in the ladies' bower,
"If she will herself consent/'

"My greeting, Adelaide, daughter dear!
"In comfort I'd see thee live:
"Sir Stephen has ask'd thee, and e'en to him
"Thy hand I am fain to give."

The gentle Adelaide thus replied,
To God and to man she sware;
"I never had thought upon wedded life,
"Or wish'd for its pains and care."

"The youth," said her mother, "in Iceland lies,
"On whom thy heart is set;
"But him, though home he return again,
"For husband thou shalt not get."

"I care for Torkild no more nor less,
"Than just any other swain:
"(May God in his mercy rule our fate,
"That home he return again!)"

Then answer'd fair Adelaide's waiting maid,
And thus she spake and said;
"Give ye to my lady no other swain,
"Than whom she herself would wed."

"What!" answered Sir Lave, and spake in baste.
So ready of word and deed,
"I give my daughter to whom I will,
"Nor ask of my handmaid rede."

The lady's consent they ask'd no more,
Nor ever had she said yea,
But that day month was a banquet held.
And drunk was her wedding day.

As evening closed, and all in state
The bride to her bed was brought,
Fair Adelaide then and her faithful maid
A crafty device bethought.

"Now listen, Eline, my faithful maid,
"Be bride for the night for me,
"And great the kindness from this day forth
"I lifelong will show to thee."

"Aye," answered the good little maid, Eline,
So faithful she was and true;
"Whatever, my mistress, may be your will,
"I gladly will do for you."

When even had come and th' hour of rest.
Their crafty device they play'd;
The lady she stole from the bridal house,
And left in the bed her maid.

Soon after Sir Stephen Jonson came,
And tapping her lily cheek;
"Say is it on me your heart is bent?
"Be truthful, my dear, and speak."

"Aye/' answer the sly little maid, Eline,
Well feigning her lady's voice,
"Indeed it is you, whom best I love,
"And Torkild is not my choice."

So soon as the early morning dawn'd,
They shifted the parts they play'd;
The lady, she went to the bridal house.
And out of it crept the maid.

When now with its light the rising sun
Had brighten'd the morning hour,
Arose from his couch the Danish king.
And went to the bridal bower.

"Sir Stephen, with silver coin shalt thou
"And ruddiest gold be paid,
"To shroud it in silence, if doubt thou hast,
"Thy lady was not a maid.

"I'll give thee. Sir Stephen, the silver coin,
"I'll give thee a band of gold;
"If any the smallest doubt thou hast,
"Let nothing thereof be told."

"O keep it yourself, the silver coin,
"Keep also your gold so red,
"For she was indeed a loyal maid,
"You gave me yestreen to wed."

"If true is all that thou tellest me,
"And she was a maid indeed,
"The captive, young Torkild Trundeson,
"ShU straight from his bonds be freed."

They drank her marriage in mead and wine,
And gaily they held carouse,
And when in the feast eight days had pass'd,
They led to her home the spouse.

In five month's time came Torkild home,
From Iceland's frosty side,
And learnt that Adelaide, once his own.
Was now Sir Stephen's bride.

It was on a Sunday's early morn,
So holy and good the day.
Young Trundeson forward sent his swains
To beg of the priest to stay.

As Torkild enter'd the church's aisle,
All golden his tresses shone;
How sorry his heart, his face betray'd,
So pallid and woe-begone.

Then asked young Torkild Trundeson,
With reverence due he spake,
"The crown that Adelaide used to wear,
"Who dared from her head to take?"

Then up and answer'd the little page,
To Torkild he thus replied;
"Sir Stephen Jonson he took her crown,
"He dwells on the south-sea side."

The holy mass to the end was sung.
The people had gone their way.
But Torkild to greet his friends and kin
Was fain in the church to stay.

He talk'd with ladies a"d maidens fair,
As each in her turn came near,
He talk'd to Adelaide first and last,
For she was the one most dear.

"And now, my Adelaide, truly say,
"What here I demand of thee,
"If thou of thy choice didst break the troth,
"That once was plighted to me?"

"Ah no!" fair Adelaide thus replied
With truth in her look and tone;
"For that must answer, and not myself,
"My kinsmen and friends alone."

"Now hark thee, Adelaide! hear my words,
"If such be thy wish and will,
"I'll thee and thy husband soon dispart,
"Sir Stephen I'll out and kill."

"Nay, list to me, Torkild Trundeson,
"Though married I was with pain,
"The God who has linked our hands in one,
"He only can part again.

"And list to me, Torkild Trundeson,
"A favour I'll ask of you,
"Mount horse, and up to Sir Peter's ride,
"His daughter so fair to woo.

"Let not your choice on the youngest maid,
"Nor yet on the eldest fall,
"But sue for the gentle Sidselille,
"For she is the best of all.

"Sue you for the.gentle Sidselille,
"For graceful and fair is she,
"And those who have seen her, have often said,
"How much she resembles me."

"For thy sake, Adelaide, so I'll do,
"I will to Sir Peter's go,
"But that I never shall love the maid,
"Too well do I feel and know."

So bade young Torkild Trundeson
To saddle his trusty gray;
"I'll up and off to Sir Peter's ride,
"A visit to him to pay."

"My greeting, Sir Peter, noble knight
"In mantle so richly drest!
"O give me the gentle Sidselille,
"The daughter you love the best."

'Twas thus that the good Sir Peter spake;
He spake as a cautious man;
"I'll first go up to the ladies' bower
"My Sidselille's will to scan.

"God greet thee, my daughter Sidselille,
"In every comfort live!
"Young Torkild has ask'd thee, and e'en to him
"Thy hand I am fain to give."

"Nay" answer'd the gentle Sidselille,
In honour and virtue bred,
"It is not right to betrothe a swain,
"Another would wish to wed."

They let her follow her own desire,
And gladly she answer'd, yea
And soon as a month was fully past,
Th drank their wedding day.

But first went Torkild Trundeson
To ask of his mother rede;
"Who, tell me, should be the chosen dame,
"The one who my bride should lead?"

The mother beneath her mantle smiled,
And thus to her son replied;
"Beg Adelaide once so dear to thee
"Herself to escort thy bride."

He mounted his horse, young Trundeson,
And up to Sir Stephen's rode,
And there at his door in martin pall
Sir Stephen Jonson stood.

"My greeting, Adelaide, lady fair,
"Array'd in so rich a weed,
"O say, wilt thou be the chosen dame,
"The one who my bride shall lead?"

Awhile fair Adelaide silent stood,
Nor what she should answer knew;
Sir Stephen Jonson it was, said 'yea',
"And that thou art free to do."

Two robes of the richest silk she cut,
Of sindal two more beside,
Not one of the guests had brought such gifts
To honour the gentle bride.

Not one of so many wedding guests
So handsome a gift would give:
She gave to the bride the very swain,
With whom she herself would liv.

She mounted, the gentle Adelaide,
And rode to meet the bride.
And crimson sindal and costly silk
Was hung on her horse's side.

They rode across the grassy fields,
And through the green-wood glade;
And on her saddlebow all the while.
Young Trundeson's hand was laid.

When evening came, and the hour of rest,
To bed they led the bride.
But still with Adelaide Torkild stood
In tender discourse aside.

"But all the longer we tarry here,
"The worse will matters be,
"And thee will reproach thy fair young bride,
"My lord be as wroth with me."

"So God protect me and all my days
"From sorrow and anguish keep!
"I rather would still with thee discourse,
"Than go with my bride to sleep."

Fair Adelaide she the curtains closed,
But griev'd at her heart and sigh'd;
A silken coverlet o'er them threw;
"Would Heaven I were the bride!"

Fair Adelaide left them there to rest,
And bolted the chamber door;
And him and his bride she wish'd Good night
A thousand times o'er and o'er.

Sir Stephen Jonson was deadly sick,
And lay on his bed so low,
And spake, as his gentle Adelaide
Went anxiously to and fro.

"Unkindly with us the Lord has dealt,
"That children were none at all."
"That profits, said she, thine own rich kin;
"On me will the damage fall."

Sir Stephen sicker and sicker grew,
And turn'd to the chamber side,
And ere there another hour had struck,
He sank on his bed and died.

In came to the hall a little page
Was clad in a kirtle red;
A Pater noster he pray'd for him.
And told them the knight was dead

Young Torkild Trundeson shut with joy
His chequer board all so bright,
And pray'd to Heaven might rest in peace
The soul of the buried knight.

Three months had pass'd, and Sidselille
The loveliest infant bare;
But sad is the tale, in childbed died
The mother herself so fair.

The gentle Adelaide benches spread,
And warmly to God she pray'd;
"O grant me in less than a year and day
"Nor widow to be, nor maid."

Then ordered young Torkild Trundeson
To saddle without delay;
"To gentle Adelaide's house I'll ride,
"A visit to her to pay."

He mounted his horse and reached her house,
And thus to the lady spake;
"Permit me, Adelaide, this one night
"My lodging with you to take."

"Right welcome. Sir Torkild Trundeson,
"Dismount from your horse, and rest
"Henceforward you here shall find your home,
"And need not to be my guest,"

And so were at last those lovers met
With mutual great delight;
Their only sorrow to find so short
So pleasant a summer night.

The gentle Adelaide, while alone
She still in her chamber stayed.
Had given to one of Torkild's swains
Eline her waiting maid.

Then order'd young Torkild Trundeson
To saddle without delay;
"I'll up the land to Sir Lave's ride,
"A visit to him to pay."

As came young Torkild Trundeson,
And enter'd within the gate,
There stood Sir Lave before the door
All clad in his dress of state.

"Now hail. Sir Lave, good noble knight,
"In raiment of sable drest!
"Fair Adelaide give me to be my wife,
"The daughter you love the best."

Sir Lave with caution his answer gave.
His thoughts in his bosom pent;
"I first will ask in the ladies' bower
"If she will herself consent."

"My greeting Adelaide, daughter dear,
"In every comfort live,
"Young Torkild has ask'd thee, and e'en to him
"Thy hand I would gladly give."

"With needle and scissars and broider'd work
"My living I meant to gain;
"The trouble and care of wedded life
"I wish not to bear again."

"With needle and scissars and broider'd work
"The living to earn is small;
"Nay thou shalt again a husband wed,
"Like other good women all."

Fair Adelaide round to her mother turn'd,
"And smiling so archly said,
"And yet is Torkild the selfsame swain,
"You said' should never wed."

They gain'd fair Adelaide's own consent,
And gladly she answer'd yea
And after a month bad duly pass'd,
They drank her wedding day.

They drank right gaily the wedding feast,
And joyous and glad they were,
And seven, as fair as their hearts could wish,
The children the lady bare.