Torben’s Daughter

Oh, we were many sisters small,
—On the lea—
So early did our father fall.
—The day it is dawning, and the dew it is falling so free.

All on a Sunday evening they scoured both spear and sword,
All on a Monday morning wrathful they rode abroad.

When they went by the northern shaw
Sir Torben ploughing his land they saw.

“There standst thou, Sir Torben, so fair and fine!
Now pay me blood-money for kinsman mine.”

“I will give thee farm and stead,
I will give thee my daughter, so fair a maid.”

“We come not hither for house nor land,
We come for the blood of thy red right hand!”

They hewed Sir Torben to pieces small
As the leaves that under the linden fall.

They’re ridden up to Sir Torben’s stead,
And there stood his daughter, so fair a maid.

She stood, as slim as a willow-wand,
With a goblet of gold in either hand.

She poured the wine with sport and play,
She pledged the man who her sire did slay.

“Now had I guessed thee so mild of mood,
I ne’er had spilt thy father’s blood!”

“And if thou hast my father slain,
Then I must dree right bitter pain.”

“And have I done ill to thee thereby
Thou shalt fare hereafter as well as I.”

He set her up on his steed so true,
He wrapped her in his cloak of blue.

They rode away o’er the darksome heather,
—On the lea—
Never more did she see her father.
—The day it is dawning, and the dew it is falling so free.