Title: The Fountain of Maribo - and other ballads
Author: Borrow, George Henry, 1803-1881
Language: English
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Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org.  Many thanks to Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library,
UK, for kindly supplying the images from which this transcription was
made.

                     [Picture: Manuscript of Ramund]



                                   THE
                            FOUNTAIN OF MARIBO
                            AND OTHER BALLADS


                                    BY
                              GEORGE BORROW

                                 LONDON:
                     PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION

                                   1913

               _Copyright in the United States of America_
             _by Houghton Mifflin & Co. for Clement Shorter_.



THE FOUNTAIN OF MARIBO
OR
THE QUEEN AND THE ALGREVE


The Algreve {7} he his bugle wound
   _The long night all_—
The Queen in bower heard the sound,
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

The Queen her little page address’d,
   _The long night all_—
“To come to me the Greve request,”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

He came, before the board stood he,
   _The long night all_—
“Wherefore, O Queen, has sent for me?”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

“As soon as e’er my lord is dead,
   _The long night all_—
Thou shalt rule o’er my gold so red,”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

“O speak not, Queen, in such wild style,
   _The long night all_—
Thou know’st not who may list the while,”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

She fondly thought alone they were,
   _The long night all_—
There stood the King, to all gave ear,
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

The King two serving men address’d,
   _The long night all_—
“To come to me the Queen request,”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

“Hear thou, my Queen, so fair and sleek,
   _The long night all_—
What with the Algreve didst thou speak?”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

“The speech that I with him did hold,
   _The long night all_—
Was all about thy actions bold,”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

“The King two servants did command,
   _The long night all_—
“Bid ye the Greve before me stand,”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

“Hear thou, my Greve, what with my Queen
   _The long night all_—
Didst thou discourse of yestere’en?”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

“The whole discourse that we did hold,
   _The long night all_—
Was of thy virtues manifold,”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

The King his little page address’d,
   _The long night all_—
“To come to me the cook request,”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

“Thou cook, the Greve to pieces chop,
   _The long night all_—
And to thy Lady serve him up,”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

Long sat the Queen, the meat she eyed,
   _The long night all_—
“This is no Roe I’m satisfied,
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

“But ’tis the Greve our hall who grac’d.”
   _The long night all_—
The pieces she collects in haste,
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

She wrapped them in white ermine skin,
   _The long night all_—
A gilded chest she placed them in.
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

She them collects, then wends her slow,
   _The long night all_—
Unto the fount of Maribo.
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

She dipped them in the water pure,
   _The long night all_—
“Rise, Christian man, I thee conjure!”
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.

The man arose, and thanked his God,
   _The long night all_—
Then from the country forth he trod.
   _I’m passion’s thrall_.



RAMUND


Ramund thought he should a better man be
   If better apparel arrayed him;
Of garments of leather, and hemp patch’d together,
   The Queen then a present made him.
“These I will not wear,” bold Ramund he said,
   “They beseem me not fair,” said Ramund the young.

“Your garments of tow and leather bestow
   On the cleaners of trencher and platter.”
The Lady to give him fresh clothes was not slow,
   And of sammet and silk were the latter.
“Yes, these will I wear,” bold Ramund he said,
   “They beseem me right fair,” said Ramund the young.

Ramund he into the shop now hies,
   Where the best of all tailors was sitting:
“Now wilt thou, O tailor, so dext’rous and wise,
   Make clothes for Ramund fitting?”
“And why should I not?” the tailor he said,
   “Then thou’lt do well I wot,” said Ramund the young.

“Twice twenty-five ells for the breeches take,
   Fifteen for the points of the breeches;
And them thou must strong and durable make
   If thou therein settest stitches.”
“These are too tight,” bold Ramund he said,
   “I can’t stride out aright,” said Ramund the young.

Now Ramund his ships beside the shore
   With everything needful prepareth;
And away, away, the salt ocean o’er
   To the land of the Jutuns he beareth.
“We are come to this soil,” bold Ramund he said,
   “And withouten much toil,” said Ramund the young.

Ramund he wanders along the strand,
   There seven tall Giants faced him:
“If I take Ramund in my left hand
   I afar from the land will cast him.”
“You’ll not do that alone,” bold Ramund he said,
   “Ye must come every one,” said Ramund the young.

Ramund drew out his trusty glaive,
   To which Dymling for name he had given;
And dead to the earth with seven blows brave
   He hewed the Jotuns seven.
“There ye all seven lie,” bold Ramund he said,
   “And still living am I,” said Ramund the young.

Ramund walked on till the big Jutt he spied,
   And to see him he sorely wonder’d;
For full fifty ells was his carcase wide,
   And his height was nearly a hundred.
“What a breadth, what a height!” bold Ramund he said,
   “Dost wish for a fight?” said Ramund the young.

“Dear Ramund, if thou wilt let me live,
   And to me no damage wilt proffer,
I’ll bathe thee in wine, and to thee I will give
   Seven bushels of gold from my coffer.”
“Make ’em eight, if you will,” bold Ramund he said,
   “I will cut thee down still,” said Ramund the young.

The first, first day that together they fought
   With their naked fists they contested;
Then Ramund he hold of the Jutt’s beard caught
   And the flesh from the teeth he wrested.
“Thou grinnest full evil, bold Ramund,” he said,
   “Thou look’st worse than the Devil,” said Ramund the young.

Next day they set to at the rise of the sun,
   Again with a rage unexampled;
The huge stone mountain they stood upon
   To the earth ’neath their feet was trampled.
“’Tis hard sport, I swear!” the giant he said,
   “We began but this year,” said Ramund the young.

Then Ramund again to his sword recurred,
   To which Dymling for name he had given;
And the head of the Jutt, which no ox could have stirred,
   He hewed high unto the heaven.
“’Twould not cut well I thought,” bold Ramund he said
   “Yet it cut as it ought,” said Ramund the young.

Ramund he into the mountain strode,
   Where the small trolds house were keeping;
The tears fast down their visages flow’d,
   For Ramund they fell to weeping.
“Do ye weep for me,” bold Ramund he said,
   “I’ll ne’er weep for ye,” said Ramund the young.

Now Ramund behold is dealing his blows
   Like the Kemps most famed for fighting;
About and around in the cave he goes
   To the earth the demons smiting.
“I rule here at my ease,” bold Ramund he said,
   “And can do what I please,” said Ramund the young.

On his ship entered he so vehemently
   That it cracked his vehemence under;
In the ship the men all began loudly to bawl
   And thought they should certainly founder.
“We shall not sink here,” bold Ramund he said,
   “So ye need not to fear,” said Ramund the young.

Now Ramund he straight seven ships did freight
   With the gold which the Trolds had hoarded;
Then across the tide to the land he hied
   O’er which the Emperor lorded.
“To this land we are come,” bold Ramund he said,
   “We no farther will roam,” said Ramund the young.

On the white sand Ramund his anchor flung,
   The high prow strandward turning;
And the very first man to land that sprung
   Was himself, with eagerness burning.
“Now do nothing more,” bold Ramund he said,
   “All labour give o’er,” said Ramund the young.

To the Ball-house he sped, where the kempions play’d
   At ball with glee and vigour;
But at his coming all stood adread,
   At the sight of so fierce a figure.
“Pretty sport is this same,” bold Ramund he said,
   “I’ll make one in the game,” said Ramund the young.

With fear and dismay upon his brow
   From a window the Emperor gazes:
“O who is that man in the yard below
   That makes such horrible faces?”
“’Tis I, and with glee,” bold Ramund he said,
   “I’ll do battle with thee,” said Ramund the young.

Ramund he struck on his sword amain,
   The earth to its centre trembled;
The small birds swooned and fell on the plain,
   On the bough that were singing assembled.
“Come down to me, knave,” bold Ramund he said,
   “Or by God I shall rave,” said Ramund the young.

Ramund he into the door now trode,
   His face like a burning ember:
“Though iron and steel oppose my road
   I’ll penetrate to his chamber.”
“Now be on thy guard,” bold Ramund he said,
   “I’m about to strike hard,” said Ramund the young.

On the door Ramund smote with an iron bar stout,
   The castle was rent and parted;
’Neath that blow’s power nod wall and tower,
   From their place the windows started.
“You see I broke in,” bold Ramund he said,
   “Now at stake is thy skin,” said Ramund the young.

“Dear Ramund, dear Ramund, my life now spare,
   And with benefits thee I’ll cover;
I’ll give thee my youngest daughter fair,
   And the half of the land I rule over.”
“Can take all any tide,” bold Ramund he said,
   “And thy daughter beside,” said Ramund the young.

Ramund then drew out Dymling his blade,
   Of his valour the trusty assistant;
And he hewed at the Emperor so that his head
   Flew fifteen furlongs distant.
“I thought ’twould not sever,” bold Ramund he said,
   “But the blood runs however,” said Ramund the young.



ALF OF ODDERSKIER


Alf he dwells at Odderskier,
   Is rich and bold withal;
Two stout and stalwart sons has he
   Whom men do kempions call.

Yes, two stout sons of mighty fame
   Has Alf of Odderskier;
Of the king who dwells on Upsal fells
   They love the daughter fair.

It was youthful Helmer Kamp,
   From stall his courser led;
“O I will hie me up the land
   And the king’s fair daughter wed.”

It was youthful Angelfyr
   He sprang on his courser’s back:
“And I will ride to Upsal too,
   Though the earth beneath me crack.”

And when they entered the castle yard
   They doffed their cloaks of skin;
Then straight they strode to the high, high hall,
   To the monarch of Upsal in.

In came youthful Helmer Kamp,
   With grace and beauty rife:
“O King, thy daughter dear I love,
   Wilt give her me for wife?”

In came youthful Angelfyr,
   His steely helmet shone:
“O King, give up thy daughter to me,
   And straight from the land begone.”

Then answered soon the Upsal-King,
   And a brave reply he gave:
“On my daughter I’ll no husband force,
   She’ll choose whom she will have.”

“Now many thanks, dear father, that
   Thou leav’st the choice to me;
I’ll plight me to young Helmer Kamp,
   He’s like a man to see.

“But I’ll not have young Angelfyr,
   He’s an ugly Trold to view;
His father so is, his mother so is,
   So are all his kindred too.”

Then answered the young Angelfyr,
   So sorely wroth he grew:
“Come, brother, come to the court-yard down,
   For her we will battle do.”

Then up and spake the Upsal King,
   And the Upsal King did say:
“The swords are sharp, the swains are stark,
   There’ll be, I trow, good play.”

Alf he stands at Odderskier,
   And he listens the mountains tow’rds;
Then must he hear so far, far off
   The clash of his children’s swords.

And that heard Alf of Odderskier,
   So far across the down:
“What have my sons now got in hand?
   Why so wrathful are they grown?”

He tarried then so short a space,
   He sprang on his courser red;
And he arrived at Upsala
   Before his sons lay dead.

“Now tell me, youthful Helmer Kamp,
   Tell me my dearest son,
Wherefore so free from thy flesh and bone
   Those bloody rivers run?”

Then answered the young Helmer Kamp,
   As he writhed him round with pain;
This Angelfyr, my brother, has done
   Since the maid he could not gain.

I have full fifteen mortal wounds,
   They are blent with poison all;
But if I had only one of them,
   I dead full soon must fall.”

“Now list to me, young Angelfyr,
   Beloved son of mine;
Say, wherefore trembles so the sword,
   In that good hand of thine?”

“Ask’st thou why trembles so the sword
   In this right hand of mine?
Because I’ve eighteen mortal wounds,
   And to hurt me they combine.

“I have full eighteen mortal wounds,
   And each so deadly sore;
If I had only one of them
   I could not live an hour.”

It was Alf of Odderskier,
   An oak by the root uptore;
It was the young Helmer Kamp
   Whom dead he laid in gore.

Now lie the valiant kempions two,
   Within a single grave;
And the King to his daughter cannot give
   The swain whom she will have.

Sore sorrows Alf of Odderskier,
   His valiant children slain.
Whilst Upsal’s King may still at home
   His daughter fair retain.

                                 LONDON:
               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.

                   _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_.



Footnote:


{7}  A title of dignity, equivalent to that of Count.





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