THE ELECTED KNIGHT.

[The following strange and somewhat mystic ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek's Danske Viser of the Middle Ages. It seems to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, and to the institution of Knight-Errantry. The three maidens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularities of the original have been carefully preserved in the translation.]

SIR OLUF he rideth over the plain,

Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide,

But never,

ah never can meet with the man

A tilt with him dare ride.

He saw under the hill-side

A Knight full well equipped;

His steed was black, his helm was barred;

He was riding at full speed.

He wore upon his spurs

Twelve little golden birds;

Anon he spurred his steed with a clang,

And there sat all the birds and sang.

He wore upon his mail

Twelve little golden wheels;

Anon in eddies the wild wind blew,

And round and round the wheels they flew.

He wore before his breast

A lance that was poised in rest;
And it was sharper than diamond-stone,
It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan.

He wore upon his helm,

A wreath of ruddy gold;

And that gave him the Maidens Three,
The youngest was fair to behold.

Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon
If he were come from heaven down;
"Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he,
"So will I yield me unto thee."

"I am not Christ the Great,

Thou shalt not yield thee yet;

I am an Unknown Knight,

Three modest Maidens have me bedight."

"Art thou a Knight elected,

And have three Maidens thee bedight;

So shalt thou ride a tilt this day,
For all the Maidens' honor!"

The first tilt they together rode
They put their steeds to the test;
The second tilt they together rode,
They proved their manhood best.

The third tilt they together rode,
Neither of them would yield;
The fourth tilt they together rode,
They both fell on the field.

Now he the lords upon the plain,
And their blood runs unto death;
Now sit the Maidens in the high tower,
The youngest sorrows till death.

III. Anglo-Saxon.

THE GRAVE.

FOR thee was a house built

Ere thou wast born,

For thee was a mould meant

Ere thou of mother camest.

But it is not made ready,

Nor its depth measured,

Nor is it seen

How long it shall be.

Now I bring thee

Where thou shalt be;

Now I shall measure thee,

And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,

It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein,

The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways unhigh.

The roof is built

Thy breast full nigh,

So thou shalt in mould

Dwell full cold,

Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house,

And dark it is within;

There thou art fast detained And Death hath the key. Loathsome is that earth-house,

And grim within to dwell.

There thou shalt dwell,

And worms shall divide thee.

Thus thou art laid,

And leavest thy friends;

Thou hast no friend,

Who will come to thee,

Who will ever see

How that house pleaseth thee;

Who will ever open

The door for thee

And descend after thee,

For soon thou art loathsome

And hateful to see.