Stout Diderick and Olger the Dane

Stout Diderick up in Bermer land
With eighteen brothers dwelt;
And each of these twelve sons could boast,
Whose hand their foes had felt.

And twelve as stout and dauntless sons
His fifteen sisters bare;
Thirteen sons had the younger one.
Whom danger could not scare.

These champions stood before the cave,
And were so lofty each,
Their heads rose — 'tis the truth I tell —
Above the highest beech.

"For many a year, and far and wide,
"We've fought, and not in vain;
"In Denmark lives a worthier foe,
"King Olger, call'd the Dane.

"This Olger up in Jutland dwells,
"If true what we've been told,
"And dares to set our power at naught,
"And crown his head with gold."

Swerting, he seized a bar of steel,
"King Olger I despise;
"Myself I'd meet a hundred Danes,
"And drive them back like flies."

"Nay, Swerting, hark thee, swarthy wight,
"Deem not their prowess small,
"For well I know king Olger's men
"Are valiant heroes all"

Uprose the mighty Bermeriis,
And spake in all his pride;
"We'll thither march, and see if he
"Our onset dares abide."

With eighteen thousand mailclad men
They march'd from Bermer land;
They vow'd to be king Olger's guests,
And reach'd the Danish strand.

Stout Diderick straight an envoy sent,
And bade King Olger say,
If he would fight him on the field,
Or yearly tribute pay.

With scorn King Olger made reply,
"he could bear a taunt;
"Meet us thy braggart king afield,
"We'll make him rue his vaunt."

Olger to council call'd his men,
The case before them laid;
"Stout Diderick treads our Danish soil,
"And tribute will be paid."

Then thus replied his champions all,
And bold they spake and plain,
"If Diderick's men to Denmark come,
"They go not back again."

And these the names of Olger's men.
Folding, and Wolf of Yern,
Hogen and Vidrick Verlandson,
And Blue, and Koll the stern.

Olger the Dane and Diderick met,
Kings both so fierce of mood;
And round them, all athirst for fight,
Their countless champions stood.

They strove that day, for three they strove,
Would none to the other yield;
And sooth it was a stubborn strife,
And grim that battle field.

They met and fought with all their might
Out on the dingy heath;
And wrathful were those warriors all,
And fought for life and death.

The blood on hill and flowery vale
Ran bubbling like a stream;
The very sun look'd red with gore
Through clouds of dust and steam.

Then spake the lofty Bermeriis
In grief and sore dismay,
"We've scarcely a hundred left alive,
"How can we win the day?"

Stout Diderick took to his heels, and fled
O'er wooded hill and dale;
Swerting, at risk of neck and limbs,
Fled on his master's trail.

Stout Diderick call'd his scattered troops,
And look'd to the angry sky;
"My men, we find no shelter here,
"To" Berm land let us fly."

"Off then!" so spake young Wolf of Tern
Beneath the hill so green;
"'Tis little cause ye'll have to boast,
"That ye've in Denmark been."

Full eighteen thousand mail clad men
Had march'd from Berm away,
But five and fifty were the most,
Came from that deadly fray.