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Title: The Chosen Knight
Author: George Borrow [
More Titles by Borrow]
Sir Oluf rode forth over hill and lea
Full seven mile broad and seven mile wide,
But no one living discovered he
Who a joust with him dare ride.
He saw, whilst forward glancing,
A gallant knight advancing,
Black was his courser, his helm was lac'd,
He came with bounding haste.
Upon his spurs all gory
Twelve gilded birdies bore he;
Each time with the rowel he pricked his horse
The birdies sang with all their force.
Twelve gilt wheels on his bridle
He bore, nor were they idle;
Each time through them the breezes blew,
How quickly around the little wheels flew.
He carried before his breast
A long lance, placed in rest;
Far sharper than diamond was that lance,
It laid Sir Oluf in deadly trance.
Aloft on his helm he show'd
A chaplet of red glare;
Three maidens in proof of their love bestow'd,
The youngest was so fair.
Sir Oluf enquired of the knight,
An he were come down from the realms of light:
"Art thou the Christ, for if thou be,
I'll willingly bend before thee the knee?"
"I am not the Christ of power,
Thou need'st not before me cower;
An unknown knight thou see'st in me,
Sent forth by three maids of high degree."
"If thou be a chosen knight
Whom maidens three have sent this way,
Then for love of those damsels bright,
Thou shalt joust with me to-day."
The first course they together rode
Of their coursers trial made they,
The second course they together rode
Their best manhood well display'd they.
The third joust they together rode
Neither one the other humbled,
But the fourth joust they together rode
Dead to the green earth they tumbled.
Now on the wold the heroes lie,
With their blood the grass is red;
In the chamber high sit the maids and sigh,
But the youngest soon is dead.
[The end]
George Borrow's poem: The Chosen Knight
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