Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Scotland: Vols. VI–VIII. 1876–79.
King Volmer and Elsie
By Christian Winther (1796–1876)W
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.
“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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
As fast beside her father’s gate the riders held their way;
And one was brave in scarlet coat, with golden spur on heel,
And, as he checked his foaming steed, the maiden checked her wheel.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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 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.”
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.”
“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.”
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.”
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.”
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!”
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!
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!
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!”
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.
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.
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!