Sir Swerkel

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Title:     Sir Swerkel
Author: George Borrow [More Titles by Borrow]

There's a dance in the hall of Sir Swerkel the Childe,
There dances fair Kirstine, her hair hanging wild.

There dance the good King and his nobles so gay,
Fair Kirstine before them she warbles a lay.

His hand to the maiden Sir Swerkel stretched free:
"Come hither and dance, little Kirstine, with me."

Her finger he pressed, and moved up to her near:
"Sweet Kirstine, I pray thee become my heart's dear."

Her finger he pressed, on her sandal trod he:
"Fair Kirstine, with pity my agonies see!"

They danced to the left, and they danced to the right,
And her troth the fair damsel bestowed on the knight.

Upon him Sir Swerkel his red mantle throws,
And to the high hall to his mother he goes.

"Hail, hail as thou sittest here, dear mother mine!
I come from betrothing the little Kirstine."

"Our Lady forbid, and our Lady forfend,
Relations like ye to betroth should pretend.

"In wedlock united ye never must be,
For brother and sister, believe me, are ye."

"Now tell me, I pray thee, O dear mother mine!
What time thou didst bring forth the little Kirstine."

"The time that thou wast on thy journey to Rome,
I bore the sweet flowret that's now in full bloom.

"Whilst thou to the sepulchre holy wast gone,
I bore the fair mirror thy love that hast won.

"In the court of the Queen she was reared up with care,
And scarlet and sable accustomed to wear."

"Now give me thy counsel, O dear mother mine,
How I may forget her, the little Kirstine?"

"Go chase thou the hart, and go chase thou the hind,
And thou wilt her image soon chase from thy mind.

"Go chase thou the hart, and go chase thou the roe,
And thou thy love-longing wilt quickly forego."

He chased the proud hart, and he chased the swift hind,
But he never could chase the fair maid from his mind.

He chased the tall hart, and he chased the sleek roe,
But the longing of love from his mind would not go.

So the knight from the country was driven at last,
And into a cloister the maiden was cast.

No little bird shaped from the far land its flight
Than enquiry she made for her dear betrothed knight.

A bird ne'er so little across the sea stray'd
But he enquired after his dear betrothed maid.

[The end]
George Borrow's poem: Sir Swerkel

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