“To please you, Elsie, I will lay keen Dynadel
away, And in its place will swing the scythe and mow
your father’s hay.” “Nay, but
your gallant scarlet cloak my eyes can never bear;
A Vadmal coat, so plain and gray, is all that you
must wear.”
“Well, Vadmal will I wear for you,” the
rider gayly spoke, “And on the Lord’s
high altar I’ll lay my scarlet cloak.”
“But mark,” she said, “no stately
horse my peasant love must ride, A yoke of steers
before the plough is all that he must guide.”
The knight looked down upon his steed: “Well,
let him wander free No other man must ride the horse
that has been backed by me. Henceforth I’ll
tread the furrow and to my oxen talk, If only little
Elsie beside my plough will walk.”
“You must take from out your cellar cask of
wine and flask and can; The homely mead I brew you
may serve a peasant. man.” “Most
willingly, fair Elsie, I’ll drink that mead
of thine, And leave my minstrel’s thirsty throat
to drain my generous wine.”
“Now break your shield asunder, and shatter
sign and boss, Unmeet for peasant-wedded arms, your
knightly knee across. And pull me down your
castle from top to basement wall, And let your plough
trace furrows in the ruins of your hall!”
Then smiled he with a lofty pride; right well at
last he knew The maiden of the spinning-wheel was
to her troth. plight true. “Ah, roguish
little Elsie! you act your part full well You know
that I must bear my shield and in my castle dwell!
“The lions ramping on that shield between the
hearts aflame Keep watch o’er Denmark’s
honor, and guard her ancient name.
“For know that I am Volmer; I dwell in yonder
towers, Who ploughs them ploughs up Denmark, this
goodly home of ours’.
“I tempt no more, fair Elsie! your heart I know
is true; Would God that all our maidens were good
and pure as you! Well have you pleased your
monarch, and he shall well repay; God’s peace!
Farewell! To-morrow will bring another day!”
He lifted up his bridle hand, he spurred his good
steed then, And like a whirl-blast swept away with
all his gallant men. The steel hoofs beat the
rocky path; again on winds of morn The wood resounds
with cry of hounds and blare of hunter’s horn.
“Thou true and ever faithful!” the listening
Henrik cried; And, leaping o’er the green hedge,
he stood by Elsie’s side. None saw the
fond embracing, save, shining from afar, The Golden
Goose that watched them from the tower of Valdemar.
O darling girls of Denmark! of all the flowers that
throng Her vales of spring the fairest, I sing for
you my song. No praise as yours so bravely rewards
the singer’s skill; Thank God! of maids like
Elsie the land has plenty still! 1872.
Beneath the low-hung night cloud
That raked her splintering mast
The good ship settled slowly,
The cruel leak gained fast.
