Childe Orm and the Berm Giant

It was the mighty Bermeriis,
A monster large and tall,
So mad was he, no strength of man
His fury held in thrall.

It was the mighty Bermeriis
Girt on his sword so bright,
And rode away to the royal court
A worthy foe to fight.

"Hail, Danish king! here then you sit,
"And at your board preside;
"Your daughter you shall give to me,
"And realm with me divide.

"Either your daughter you shall give,
"And kingdom with me share,
"Or find a champion bold enough
"A joust with me to dare."

"Neither my daughter shalt thou have,
"Nor yet the half my land,
"But e'en a bold and gallant knight
"To fight thee hand to hand."

It was the stately Danish king
Strode up his castle hall;
"Now who will win a lovely maid
"Among my warriors all?"

There sat those champions all so still,
None answer'd him a word,
Except childe Orm, the youngest swain,
And lowest at the board.

"Your daughter will you give to me,
"And share with me your land?
"Then here there stands the champion,
"Will meet him hand to hand"

It was the stately Danish king
Met him with scornful taunt;
"And who is then the puny mouse,
"Dares make this haughty vaunt?"

"It is no puny mouse I am,
"Tho' such the name you gave;
"For father I king Sigfred claim,
"Who perish'd in the cave."

"And is King Sigfred then thy sire?
"His features I can trace,
"But scarcely fifteen years, I ween,
"Have bronzed that beardless face."

At evening tide, the hour when swains
Their steeds to water bring,
It listed Orm, the youthful swain,
To wake the sleeping king.

So hard childe Orm, the youthful swain,
The tomb began to pound,
That all its massive marble walls
Were shaken to the ground.

"Who wakes me up before my time?
"Who dares disturb my bones?
"Can I not e'en repose in peace
"Beneath these heavy stones?"

"'Tis I wake thee before thy time,
"'Tis I this deed have done,
"But not to cause thee grief or pain,
"Childe Orm, thy youngest son."

"And is it thou art come, childe Orm,
"My youngest son so clear?
"And is it gold, or silver plate,
"Or coin, thou seekest here?"

"I want nor gold, nor silver plate,
"Nor coin from out thy grave,
"But all to win a lovely maid
"Sword Birting come to crave."

"Birting, my sword, thou shalt not get
"To win for thee the bride,
"Till thou hast venged thy father's blood
"In Iceland, where he died."

"And if I Birting cannot get,
"And win the boon I crave,
"With massive rock I'll pound thy tomb,
"And crush thee in the grave."

He gave him Birting from out his tomb,
The hilt into his hand;
"Grasp it with firm and dauntless mood,
"And thee shall none withstand."

Childe Orm it was, the youthful swain,
Girt on the sword so bright,
And strode into the castle hall,
And long'd his foe to fight.

Up went childe Orm, the youthful swain,
Before the board to stand;
"Where skulk those vaunting troopers now,
"Last evening were so grand?"

All mute those Danish courtiers sat,
Nor answered him a word;
But one, the mighty Bermeriis,
He sprang across the board.

Thus spake the mighty Bermeriis,
And this reply made he,
"Swear that sword Birting thou hast not,
"Before I fight with thee."

"Birting I swear I do not hold,
"Nor know that famous brand,
"Under his tomb my father lies,
"And grasps it in his hand."

They drew with two bright gilded shields
A circle on the mould,
And sooth were standing there to fight
Two champions stout and bold.

And on the pear-bush drizzled rain,
And rain on the pear-tree,
And he, that mighty Bermeriis,
Was cut across the knee.

"With many a knight and champion
"I've fought with stab and blow,
"But never yet was warrior law
"To strike a man so low."

"So short was I, and thou so tall,
"And thence the seeming breach,
"I struck no higher than thy knee,
"Nor higher could I reach/'

Childe Orm it was, the youthful swain,
To Iceland steer'd his snake,
Would for his father foully slain
A deadly vengeance take.

Childe Orm it was, the youthful swain,
Stepp'd out upon the strand,
And there he Gerd and Arland met
Walking upon the sand.

"Welcome ashore, thou brave young man,
"From off the stormy main!
"And tell us, is to manhood grown
"Childe Orm the youthful swain?"

"That Orm, the youthful swain, ye see,
"Sail'd hither o'er the brine;
"I come to venge a father's death,
"Or claim of you the fine."

Arland and Gerd with point of sword
Began to spirt the earth;
"Fine for thy father thou shalt get
"Never a penny's worth."

They drew with three bright gilded shields
A circle upon the mould,
And, sooth, were standing there to fight
Three champions stout and bold.

They fought a day, they fought for twain,
The third day even so,
And hold or vantage neither one
Could get upon his foe.

Then thus a friendly mermaid spake
Down in her ocean cell;
"Now hark thee, Orm, thou youthful swain,
"Thy sword is under spell.

"And hark thee, Orm, thou youthful swain,
"Thy sword in spell is bound,
"But swing it three times round thy head,
"And stick it in the ground."

He swung it three times round his bead,
And stabb'd it in the mould,
Heav'd then one blow, and at his feet
Both Gerd and Arland roll'd.

When so he had venged his father's blood
In Iceland, where he died,
He back to the royal court return'd
To claim his lovely bride.

And happy now the youthful swain,
That alt his toil is done;
He nightly sleeps in peace and bliss
With her his valour won.

Quit is Childe Orm, the youthful swain,
Of care and all alarm;
And sleeps, as pleased and glad as he,
His trulove on his arm.