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Title: Niels Ebbesen
Author: George Borrow [
More Titles by Borrow]
All his men the Count collects,
And from Slesvig marched away;
Never such as host was seen
Or before or since that day.
Into Denmark marched the Count,
Followed by so fair a band;
Banners twenty-four they bore,
Power like theirs might none withstand.
Gert the Count to Randers rode,
To bad counsel lending ear;
For from old it stood foretold,
He should end there his career.
He would not the place avoid,
But seemed bent to tempt his fate;
Of the rural lords and thanes
He the quarters up will beat.
Knights and freeborn men apart,
There trooped eighteen thousand bows;
Forty thousand made they all,
Who could such a host oppose?
To Niels Ebbesen the Count
Word to appear before him sent;
And safe convoy him he gave,
Which should doubt and fear prevent.
Gert the Count met Ebbesen
North of Randers by the sea:
“Welcome be, Niels Ebbesen!
Say how matters stand with thee.”
To Niels stretched the Count his hand,
And to parleying straight they go;
There was little then of jest,
And of dallying less, I trow.
“Sir Niels Ebbesen, thou art
Welcome as the flowers in spring;
How stand minds in North Jutland,
Thence what tidings dost thou bring?
“Say how all thy wealthy friends
And thy heart’s loved lady are;
Which dost wish for at my hands,
Smiling peace, or bloody war?”
“Well stand minds in North Jutland,
Each man’s courage there’s erect;
Say, dost come as friend or foe?
What from thee may we expect?
“I have kindred in the North,
Men of wealth and noble race;
Shouldst thou it require of them
They’ll be ready for thy Grace.”
“Wise art thou, Niels Ebbesen,
And thy prudence none can doubt;
When thou canst not straightway hit
Widely then thou ridst about.
“Hear thou, Sir Niels Ebbesen,
Thou must on mine errand ride;
Say, how many men thou hast
Brought, on whom thou mayst confide?”
“Kindred, Sir, I have, and friends,
’Mongst the hardy Jutlanders;
Willingly they follow me
To the stormy strife of spears.
“I have brought, such as they are,
With me thirty mounted men;
Be they fewer, or be they more,
Dear are they to Ebbesen.”
“Hast thou with thee thirty lads?
That seems but a scanty force;
Yester e’en at Sir Bugge’s Gate
Stood’st thou with a hundred horse.”
Backward Ebbesen recoiled,
And with high flushed cheek replied:
“He nor knight nor gentleman
Is, who me hath thus belied.
“Be it man or woman who
To my face dares that to say,
Till I’ve answered suitably,
Ne’er from him I’ll flinch away.”
“Hear thou, dear Niels Ebbesen,
We thereof will talk no more;
To thy friend Sir Bugge ride,
Him to serve me true win o’er.”
“If your errand I shall do,
And to Bugge bold repair,
From thy part what I’m to say
First to me thou must declare.”
“Bugge bold has me defied,
Young Poul Glob has done the same;
Anders Frost makes one of them,
Him your Chief ’tis said ye name.
“And e’en thou, Niels Ebbesen,
Certain courtiers hast with thee,
Who have eaten of my bread,
And have basely quitted me.
“First there is young Eske Frost,
And his stalwart brothers two;
Without leave of mine obtained,
From my service they withdrew.
“More there are whom I’ve obliged,
And who pay me now no heed;
If to Bugge’s rede you list
Soon ye’ll see how you will speed.”
“Nought of Bugge’s rede I know,
What he’ll do or leave undone;
Eske thy true servant was,
Cast no blame that knight upon.
“Eske Frost’s a gallant man,
Guards his honour like his eye;
Sought he his discharge to gain,
Why to him didst it deny?
“Custom ’tis in Danish land,
And has been from days of eld,
That the man who will not serve
Shall not be to serve compell’d.
“No two things, save Monk and cowl,
Are for aye together tied;
As they loathe or like their place
Courtmen ride away or bide.”
It was Count Sir Gert, could not
Such like reasoning understand:
“No one ought to quit his lord
Whilst that lord would him command.
“And, Sir Niels, too long thou hast
Here stood idly chattering;
Either thou shalt Denmark quit,
Or thou shalt on gallows swing.
“’Neath safe convoy since thou’rt come
Thou shalt go withouten hurt;
To thy cost else thou should’st learn
What it is to anger Gert.”
“I thy princely passport hold,
Whether it avail or not;
If thou do me aught of harm,
Infamy thy name will blot.
“Thieves mayst thou on gallows hang,
To be torn by carn and crow;
For thy threat from native land,
Wife, and child, I will not go.
“But if me from native land
And my wife and babes you chase,
Thou shalt soon, for certainty,
Rue thou e’er hast seen my face!”
“Ride away, Sir Ebbesen,
Quickly hence thyself betake,
Or I will, as well I can,
On thy skull the helmet break.”
“None e’er saw me so adread
But that I could tremble still, {1}
Hear, Count Gert! look to thyself,
Guard thee from approaching ill.”
“Ebbesen, thou tirest me,
Suffering thus thy tongue to run;
Till to-morrow thou art safe,
Even till the set of sun.
“This, and the next day till eve,
Thou for me shalt be at rest;
But no belted knight am I
If I be not soon thy guest.”
Swift away rode Ebbesen,
Shook his iron-gloved fist in air:
“That I soon shall come again,
Good Sir Count, in memory bear.”
Forward rode Niels Ebbesen,
Spurred his steed till blood outflew;
With his men the Count remained,
No one dared the knight pursue.
Till he reached his Castellaye,
Still he rode withouten rest;
To his dear Dame he complained,
Begged of her her counsel best.
“Here thou sitt’st, dear Housewife mine,
What advice canst thou bestow?
Gert will drive me from the land,
Hath declared himself my foe.
“To my choice three things he put,
Least of all I liked the third;
I should join him, or the land
Quit, or hang, such was his word.”
“Ah! what counsel can I give
From my simple woman’s mind?
The most desperate counsel’s best,
Can we but that counsel find.
“The most desperate counsel’s best,
If we can but it discover;
Either slay the tyrant, or
Burn the house the tyrant over.
“To the smithy lead your steeds,
Let them all be shod anew;
Turn ye all the heels afore,
Thus your trace will cheat the view.
“Turn ye all the heels afore,
Track ye thus, I ween, can no man;
Never tell to mortal wight,
Thou hast learnt this from a woman.”
“Here my gallant swains ye sit,
Merry-making o’er your drink;
Every lad who loves his lord
From his lord now must not shrink.”
Up then rose the Courtmen bold,
To take on anew agreed;
Save Sir Niels’ sister’s son,
From his uncle would recede.
Swore the knights a solemn oath
That for him their lives they’d stake,
And with him would dauntless ride
Wheresoe’er a fray he’d make.
So they rode to Fruerlund,
From their steeds they there dismount;
Into Randers then they walked,
To beat up the hairless Count.
It was Sir Niels Ebbesen,
To the bridge of Randers came:
“He who’s loath to follow me
Straightway his discharge may claim.”
Forward stepped the tiny Frost,
Thought the truest of the true:
“Give me my dismissal, Sir,
Give me horse and saddle too.”
So he sought and got discharge,
Saddle got and steed withall;
But he served his master best
That same day ere evening fall.
To the Count’s door rode Sir Niels,
Ne’er from that withdrew his look;
Thrice thereon with iron lance
Heavily the hero strook.
“Rise up from thy sleep, my lord!
Let me in right speedily;
Thy dear brother, Henrik Count,
Has dispatched me unto thee.”
“By my brother if thou’rt sent,
Rest thee from thy journey long;
Me to-morrow in the Kirk
Meet ’twixt mass and matin song.”
“Let your page but at the door
Take from me the entrusted scroll;
Ribe hard invested is,
Colding town is burnt to coal.
“Ribe hard invested is,
Colding’s burnt, and Vedel’s flung
Open to our troops its gate,
And Niels Ebbesen is hung.”
“If what thou hast told be truth,
News it is to make one gay;
Thou shalt in respect be held
Herald till thy dying day.
“Page! no more keep fast the door,
Let me on the herald gaze;
For that we the land have won
Is the sum of what he says.”
To the window went the Count,
Thence his eye the lances caught:
“Ha! Niels Ebbesen’s at hand,
Curse the hour I Denmark sought.”
Fierce with shields the doors they banged,
Burst the locks with frequent blow:
“Hairless Count! art thou within?
Hairless Count, we pledge thee now!”
“Set thee down, Niels Ebbesen,
We shall things accommodate;
Let us send to Henrik Count,
And Claus Krummedige straight.”
“Not so yesterday didst thou
Speak, Sir Count, by Randers strand;
Then thou saidst that I should hang,
Or should quit my native land.”
Up and spoke the Count’s footpage,
Kinsman he to Ebbesen:
“By his words if ye be fooled
Lost art thou and all thy men.”
Up and spoke the black young page,
Black because he was not white:
“Straight desist from useless talk,
Let, I rede, your faulchions bite.”
“I’ve no castles, Sir, which can
Such a prisoner long contain;
Now, ye men, spare not your swords!
Hew at him with might and main!”
So the tyrant Count they took,
Made him kneel upon the floor;
And his bald head off they hewed,
Hewed it off the bedstead o’er.
Soon as they the Count had slain,
Loud the drums the alarum beat;
It was Sir Niels Ebbesen
From the town would fain retreat.
From the town he hasted then,
Dared no longer there to stay;
Soon met him Sir Ove Hals,
And essayed to bar his way.
“Do thou hear, Sir Ove Hals!
Do to me no injury!
Thou my faithful cousin art,
Prythee, Ove, let me flee.”
“Our affinity I know
Well I know its near degree;
But my Lord you’ve foully slain,
Niels! I will not let thee flee.”
Bleat the sheep, the ganders hiss,
Crows the cock upon the wall;
Ove Hals was sore beset,
Must to the Holsteiners call.
’Gainst the Danes he could not stand,
Must to the Holsteiners call;
“Murdered is your liege the Count
Up, and on his butchers fall!”
Fight Sir Ove and Sir Niels,
Ebbesen he would not fly,
He Sir Ove’s head smote off,
Left the corse in blood to lie.
Ebbesen to Randers bridge
Came, there grew the combat hot,
There he found the tiny Frost
Who had late dismissal got.
Niels sped over Randers bridge,
Holstein’s men came thronging after;
What did then the tiny Frost
But the bridge drop in the water.
Thanks to Niels’s sister’s son,
Well he served his uncle then;
In the firth the planks he cast,
No bridge found the Holstein men.
Niels a widow visited,
She’d but barley bannocks two,
One she gave to Niels, because
He the hairless tyrant slew.
Ebbesen! God sain thy soul,
Never was a braver Dane;
Thou didst free thy fatherland
From a foreign tyrant’s chain.
Christ bless every gallant man,
Who shall both with mouth and hand,
In the time of its distress,
Seek to serve his fatherland!
Footnote:
{1} A common Danish expression denoting contempt for threat.
[The end]
George Borrow's poem: Niels Ebbesen
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