Narrative and Legendary Poems, Complete






KING VOLMER AND ELSIE.

AFTER THE DANISH OF CHRISTIAN WINTER.

     WHERE, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones
     of the Horg,
     In its little Christian city stands the church of
     Vordingborg,
     In merry mood King Volmer sat, forgetful of his
     power,
     As idle as the Goose of Gold that brooded on his
     tower.

     Out spake the King to Henrik, his young and faithful
     squire
     "Dar'st trust thy little Elsie, the maid of thy
     desire?"
     "Of all the men in Denmark she loveth only me
     As true to me is Elsie as thy Lily is to thee."

     Loud laughed the king: "To-morrow shall bring
     another day,
     When I myself will test her; she will not say me
     nay."
     Thereat the lords and gallants, that round about
     him stood,
     Wagged all their heads in concert and smiled as
     courtiers should.

     The gray lark sings o'er Vordingborg, and on the
     ancient town
     From the tall tower of Valdemar the Golden Goose
     looks down;
     The yellow grain is waving in the pleasant wind of
     morn,
     The wood resounds with cry of hounds and blare
     of hunter's horn.

     In the garden of her father little Elsie sits and
     spins,
     And, singing with the early birds, her daily task,
     begins.
     Gay tulips bloom and sweet mint curls around her
     garden-bower,
     But she is sweeter than the mint and fairer than
     the flower.

     About her form her kirtle blue clings lovingly, and,
     white
     As snow, her loose sleeves only leave her small,
     round wrists in sight;
     Below, the modest petticoat can only half conceal
     The motion of the lightest foot that ever turned a
     wheel.

     The cat sits purring at her side, bees hum in
     sunshine warm;
     But, look! she starts, she lifts her face, she shades
     it with her arm.
     And, hark! a train of horsemen, with sound of
     dog and horn,
     Come leaping o'er the ditches, come trampling
     down the corn!

     Merrily rang the bridle-reins, and scarf and plume
     streamed gay,
     As fast beside her father's gate the riders held
     their way;
     And one was brave in scarlet cloak, with golden
     spur on heel,
     And, as he checked his foaming steed, the maiden
     checked her wheel.

     "All hail among thy roses, the fairest rose to me!
     For weary months in secret my heart has longed for
     thee!"
     What noble knight was this? What words for
     modest maiden's ear?
     She dropped a lowly courtesy of bashfulness and
     fear.

     She lifted up her spinning-wheel; she fain would
     seek the door,
     Trembling in every limb, her cheek with blushes
     crimsoned o'er.
     "Nay, fear me not," the rider said, "I offer heart
     and hand,
     Bear witness these good Danish knights who round
     about me stand.

     "I grant you time to think of this, to answer as
     you may,
     For to-morrow, little Elsie, shall bring another day."
     He spake the old phrase slyly as, glancing round
     his train,
     He saw his merry followers seek to hide their
     smiles in vain.

     "The snow of pearls I'll scatter in your curls of
     golden hair,
     I'll line with furs the velvet of the kirtle that you
     wear;
     All precious gems shall twine your neck; and in
     a chariot gay
     You shall ride, my little Elsie, behind four steeds
     of gray.

     "And harps shall sound, and flutes shall play, and
     brazen lamps shall glow;
     On marble floors your feet shall weave the dances
     to and fro.
     At frosty eventide for us the blazing hearth shall
     shine,
     While, at our ease, we play at draughts, and drink
     the blood-red wine."

     Then Elsie raised her head and met her wooer face
     to face;
     A roguish smile shone in her eye and on her lip
     found place.
     Back from her low white forehead the curls of
     gold she threw,
     And lifted up her eyes to his, steady and clear and
     blue.

     "I am a lowly peasant, and you a gallant knight;
     I will not trust a love that soon may cool and turn
     to slight.
     If you would wed me henceforth be a peasant, not
     a lord;
     I bid you hang upon the wall your tried and trusty
     sword."

     "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.

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