The Fight with the Worm

As I was a little shepherd boy,
And sat on a mountain side,
I caught a playful and spotted snake
I saw in the rushes glide.

I wrapped it up in a mantle blue,
That snake so spotted and barr'd,
And off to Sir Helsing's daughter fair
I took it to Lundengard.

"O thanks, many thanks, little shepherd boy,
"My thanks for a gift so brave;
"And well I will pay thee, if e'er from me
"A boon thou comest to crave."

She cherish'd the snake the winter through,
She cherish'd it winters three;
It grew to as foul and fierce a worm,
As one in the world may see.

Sir Helsing he and his wife so fair
Were daily in tears and woe,
For now no more for the lothely worm
Could they to their daughter go.

Sir Helsing at court he made it known,
And over the land so wide;
Whoever should slay the lothely worm,
His daughter should have for bride.

Out spake Child Sivord Ingorson,
And bounded across the board;
"'Tis I will fight with the lothely worm,
"Sir Helsing, you keep your word."

They fought together the livelong day,
Till sun sank under the hill;
And then fell Sivord Ingorson,
And breathless he lay and still.

The message was brought to the ladies bower,
That Sivord was slain and dead;
And bitterly wept that gentle maid
All under the scarlet red.

Right bitterly matrons wept and maids
All under their scarlet red,
As lay in the cloister at Grimerslew
The gallant young Sivord dead.

So went that whole long winter by,
And after it winters two,
The while she sat in her lonely bower,
And none to her dared to go.

Sir Helsing he sent to the royal court,
His envoys he bade to say;
"He gives his daughter and all his wealth
To him, who the worm will slay.'

That heard young Peter Rimboldson,
And boldly he rose and spake;
"'Tis I will combat the lothely worm,
"And all for the maiden's sake."

A shirt, that was woven of finest silk,
He over his shoulders drew,
And buckled upon it a coat of mail,
That glitter'd with steel so blue.

His velvet jacket he then put on,
The gold on it gleam'd afar;
And then the hide of a grisly beast,
All dabbled in pitch and tar.

Eight trenches he dug, so broad and deep,
And full were they all with blood;
But he in the ninth, young Rimboldson,
Secure from the venom stood.

They strove till sank the evening sun,
Had striven the livelong day,
And then was beaten the lothely worm,
And dead on the grass it lay.

But great was the joy in Lundengard
To hear of the victory won;
Sir Helsing he gave his daughter's hand
" To gallant young Rimboldson.

And so has young Peter Rimboldson
Got over his toil and pain,
That fair and noble young lady won,
That lotheliest monster slain.