Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by DavidPrice, . Many thanks to Norfolk andNorwich Millennium Library, UK, for kindly supplying the imagesfrom which this transcription was made.
by
GEORGE BORROW
London:
printed for private circulation
1913
It was the lofty Jutt of Bern
O’er all the walls he grew;
He was mad and ne’er at rest,
To tame him no one knew.
He was mad and ne’er at rest,
No lord could hold him in;
If he had long in Denmark stayed
Much damage there had been.
It was the lofty Jutt of Bern
Bound to his side his glaive,
And away to the monarch’s house he rode
With the knights a fray to have.
p.6Now goes the lofty Jutt of Bern
Before the King to stand:
“Thou shalt to me thy daughter give,
And a brief for half thy land.
“Here as thou sitt’st at thy wide board,
Hail Monarch of the Danes!
Thou shalt to me thy daughter give,
And the half of thy domains.
“Thou shalt to me thy daughter give,
And divide with me thy land,
Or thou shalt find a kempion good
In the ring ’gainst me to stand.”
“O thou shalt ne’er my daughter get,
Nor a brief for half my land,
I’ll quickly find a kempion good
Shall fight thee hand to hand.”
Then strode the Monarch of the Danes
To his castle hall amain:
“Now which of ye, my courtiers, will
The lovely Damsel gain?
p.7“Here sit ye all my Danish swains
On whom I bread bestow,
Now which of ye will risk his life
To lay the Berner low?
“I’ll give to him my daughter dear,
The wondrous lovely may,
Who in the ring with Jutt of Bern
Shall dare the desperate fray.”
In silence all the kempions sat,
None dared reply a word,
Except alone Orm Ungerswayne,
The lowest at the board.
Except alone Orm Ungerswayne,
He bounded o’er the board:
I tell to ye in verity
He spake a manly word.
“Wilt thou to me thy daughter give,
And divide with me thy land?
O then will I the kempion be,
Against the Jutt to stand.
p.8“And well will I your daughter win,
And the prize alone will earn;
I am the lad to dare the fray
In the ring with the Jutt of Bern.”
It was the lofty Jutt of Bern
He o’er his shoulder glar’d:
“O who may yonder mouseling be,
From whom those words I heard?”
“No mouseling I, though call me, Jutt,
A mouseling if you will,
My father was good Sigurd King
Who slumbers in his hill.”
“Ha! was thy sire good Sigurd King?
Thou’st something of his face,
Thou hast sprung up full wondrously
In fifteen winter’s space.”
It was so late at evening tide
The sun had reached the wave,
When Orm the youthful swain set out
To seek his father’s grave.
p.9It was the hour when grooms do ride
The coursers to the rill,
That Orm set out resolved to wake
The dead man in the hill.
Now strikes the bold Orm Ungerswayne
The hill with such a might,
It was I ween a miracle
It tumbled not outright.
Then stamped upon the hi