Angelfyr and Helmer Kamp

Alf, he dwelt at Otterscliff,
A man of wealth and fame;
And sons he had two gallant youths,
Had earn'd a champion's name.

Alf, he dwelt at Otterscliff,
And sons he had so bold,
The king's fair daughter they would woo
On Upsal's dreary wold.

Young Helmer Kamp his servants bade
His saddled steed to bring,
"We'll up the country, and claim for bride
"The daughter of Upsal's king."

Then rose and bade young Angelfyr
With speed his horse to girth,
"And we to Upsal too will ride,
"Beneath us crack the earth."

There, as within the court they come,
Their cloaks they round them fling,
And stride both into the lofty hall
Before the Upsal king.

In walk'd young Helmer Kamp the first,
And stood before the board;
"Sir, will ye me your daughter give?
"Deign me a gracious word."

Then up went haughty Angel fyr
Before the board to stand;
"King, thou shalt me thy daughter give,
"And quit, thyself, the land."

"Nay," so the king of Upsal spake
With stately mien and voice,
"To none will I my daughter give,
"But leave to her the choice."

"O hearty thanks, my father dear,
"That choose myself I can;
"Young Helmer Kamp will I betroth,'
"He is at least a man.

"But Angelfyr will I not have,
"I loathe his fiendish face,
"I loath his father and mother too,
"And all his heathen race."

Short answer made young Angelfyr,
Wroth at the maiden's slight;
"We'll down below to the castle yard,
"And settle that in fight."

Content the king of Upsal was,
And this for answer made;
"Their swords are sharp, the lads are hale,
"E'en let the game be play'd."

Alf listening stood at Otterscliff,
What sounds came o'er the hill,
And wafted heard in every breeze
The clank of swords so shrill.

Alf heard it over at Otterscliff,
As on the heath he stood;
"How have my sons then fallen out?
"And why so fierce of mood?"

He waited not a moment more,
But sprang on his horse so red
And rode across, and Upsal reach" d,
Before his sons were dead.

"Speak thou, and say, young Helmer Kamp,
"What is't, my dearest son,
"That pouring from thy wounded head
"These streams of blood should run?'"

Young Helmer Kamp his father heard,
And thus he spake in pain;
"That did my brother Angelfyr,
"The bride he could not gain.

"Fifteen my wounds, and death-wounds all,
"Stabb'd with a poison'd knife;
"With only one, for a single hour
"No art could save my life."

He turn'd him, Alf of Otterscliff,
And rooted up an oak,
And fell'd his son, young Angelfyr,
Dead with a single stroke.

Now buried lie those champions two
In the same grave at rest;
And the Upsal king to his daughter gives
The youth she loves the best.