Lady Bodild

The Linden stands on Lindenhill,
Stands bending towards the ground;
For Lady Bodild's wasting grief
A cure can not be found.

The linden stands on Lindenhill,
And gaily spreads its leaf,
But still to Lady Bodild's heart
No season brings relief.

It was the gallant knight Sir John
Awoke, and told his wife,
"I've dream'd tonight a wondrous dream,
"And fear I lose my life.

"I dream'd I rode to hunt the wolf
"Out in the forest shaw,
"And slain, and rent in morsels small
"Fell mangled from his jaw."

"And have you dreamt this frightful dream?
"God guide us for the best!
"Get shriven before you take the field,
"And have your banner bless'd."

Sir John in church is duly shriven,
And off to the war is gone;
The first, that in the battle fell,
Was even he Sir John.

Sir John, he with his king had march'd
To meet his country's foes.
And in the van his banner bare,
And fell, and never rose.

Three months went by, and peering out
The Lady Bodild stood;
"A hearse comes hitherward from south,
"I see the gilded wood.

"Bright glittering over Lomberd hill
"That hearse comes moving on,
"And either 'tis the King himself,
"Or else my lord, Sir John."

The Lady Bodild call'd her men;
"Ye servants twain, come near;
"Go saddle me quick my good grey horse,
"I'll ride to meet the bier."

Then thus Sir Peter, gallant knight,
No guile was in his heart;
"'Twas I that won his wife's consent
"To let Sir John depart."

Off to the van, where rode the king.
Sir Peter went, and spake;
"See here my sister Bodild comes;
"What answer shall we make?"

"O tell her 'tis Sir John's small page
"That on the bier is lain,
"Before next candlemas is past,
"Sir John comes home again."

The Lady Bodild heard the news,
But gave it no belief,
And wept, and wildly clapp'd her hands
In bitterness of grief.

"Set down, set down that gilded bier,
"I'll see what may be there,
"For better I can trust my eyes,
"Than what my kinsmen swear."

She looked, but knew Sir John no more,
Nor aught of him could see,
For tied up in a linen cloth
All chopp'd to bits was he.

She first of all his fingers viewed,
Then on his eyes would pore;
"Wert thou the only man on earth,
"I should not know thee more."

His little finger again she view'd,
And there she found a scar,
That with her scissars she had made
Herself in playful spar.

"'Tis thou indeed, my dear Sir John,
"All mangled tho' thou art;
"I ne'er shall see that happy day,
"That anguish quits my heart."

His clay-cold cheek she gently tapp'd,
A tender tear let fall;
"Forgive thee God, my brother dear,
"But thou hast caus'd it all."

She gently through her fingers drew
His long soft yellow hair;
"How often with my silver shears
"I clipp'd these locks so fair."

She rais'd his hand, his dear right hand,
And kiss'd his lips so cold;
"O pity, Lord, a widow's grief,
"My happy days are told."

Then kindly spake the Danish king,
Nor longer could refrain;
"My noble lady, why thus weep,
"Where sorrowing is in vain?

"Cease, lady, cease to mourn and sigh
"For what is lost and gone;
"I'll find thee soon another man
"Much richer than Sir John."

"Nay, gold and silver lack I not,
"I still have both in store,
"But friend so true, as was Sir John,
"I find me nevermore.

"And thanks for other rede you gave,
"But surely spoke in jest;
"There's one above can venge the wrong'd,
"And give the troubled rest.

"On me, a weak defenceless wife,
"You've wreak'd your wrath and spite,
"But look to what the proverb says
"Shall you for this requite."

In angry mood rode off the King,
To church the lady drave,
And weeping there slie left Sir John
Closed in his silent grave.

She little cared for Denmark's king.
Or gave his counsels heed.
But ever sat on widow's bench,
And -dress'd in widow's weed.

Nor knight was there in all the court,
Despite the king's command,
Could ever cheer her lifelong grief.
Or ever gain her hand.