Up Riber’s street the dance they ply,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
There dance the knights most merrily,
For young King Erik Erikson.

On Riber’s bridge the dance it goes,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
There dance the knights in scollop’d shoes,
For young King Erik Erikson.

’Twas Riber Wolf the dance who led,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
In faith to his King he had been bred,
For young King Erik Erikson.

And next him danced the Tage Mouse,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
Who Seneschal was in Ribe house,
For young King Erik Erikson.

And then danced bold Sir Saltensee,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
Followed by wealthy kinsmen three,
For young King Erik Erikson.

The noble Limbekk dances next,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
Whose power the King had often vext,
For young King Erik Erikson.

After him danced the Byrge Green,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
Then many a knight of handsome mien,
For young King Erik Erikson.

And then came dancing Hanke Kann,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
His Lady followed, good Dame Ann,
For young King Erik Erikson.

The next that came was the Ridder Rank,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
His Lady behind him, Berngard Blank,
For young King Erik Erikson.

And then the high Volravn came,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
His wife behind, who has no name,
For young King Erik Erikson.

And then came dancing Sir Iver Helt,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
Who followed his sovereign over the Belt,
For young King Erik Erikson.

Long stood the Ranild Lang apart,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
Ere he to join the dance had heart,
For young King Erik Erikson.

“And were it not for my lovely hair,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
In that brave dance I’d have a share,
For young King Erik Erikson.

“But for my cheeks so rosy red,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
The foremost in that dance I’d tread,”
For young King Erik Erikson.

Then Ranild Lang to dance began,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
And a ditty sang as he led the van,
For young King Erik Erikson.

Sweet he warbled, light he sprang,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
After him every warrior sang,
For young King Erik Erikson.

Then up the Spendel Sko arose,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
And on Ranild Lang her troth bestows,
For young King Erik Erikson.

With silk was snooded her hair of gold,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
She danced before them free and bold,
For young King Erik Erikson.

And into the Castle they dance their way,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
With drawn swords ’neath their scarlet array.
For young King Erik Erikson.

Never, I ween, was a braver dance,
The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!
It wins the Castle of Rosenkrands,
For young King Erik Erikson.

SONG THE SECOND.

To saddle his courser Ranild cried:
For thus the tale was told to me—
“To visit the rich Greve I will ride,
Though banish’d from the land we be.”

To the house came Ranild spurring hard,
For thus the tale was told to me—
There stood the Greve arrayed in mard,
Though banish’d from the land we be.

“Hail, hail, Sir Greve, arrayed so fine!
For thus the tale was told to me—
I want my bride, the little Kirstine,
Though banish’d from the land I be.”

Then up and spoke her mother dear:
For thus the tale was told to me—
“Thou hast no bride, Sir Ranild, here,
For banish’d from the land ye be.”

“O if I can’t my little bride get,
For thus the tale was told to me—
On fire your house and your gear I’ll set,
Though banish’d from the land I be.”

“O rather than ruin us in thy wrath,
For thus the tale was told to me—
Receive thy bride and ride thy path,
Though banish’d from the land ye be.”

They o’er her threw the blue cloak with speed,
For thus the tale was told to me—
And placed her upon Sir Ranild’s steed,
Though banish’d from the land he be.

They had for their bridal bed alone,
For thus the tale was told to ne—
The holt, the field, and the mead new mown,
For banish’d from the land they be.

“The forest can hear, and the mead can view,
For thus the tale was told to me—
We here must live as outlaws do,
For banish’d from the land we be.”

“Hadst thou not helped the King to slay,
For thus the tale was told to me—
In peace at home we now might stay,
But banish’d from the land we be.”

He struck her a blow the table o’er,
For thus the tale was told to me—
“Should’st guard thy tongue, child, guests before,
Though banish’d from the land we be.”

He struck her on her face so fair:
For thus the tale was told to me—
“In Erik’s death I had no share,
Though banished from the land I be.”

SONG THE THIRD.

So wide around the tidings bound
That Ranild’s prisoner taken;
Had he been aware how it would fare
He had not Hielm forsaken.
The death of woe, spaed long ago,
They’ll wreak on him now, I reckon.

Into the hall steps Ranild tall,
And withouten trepidation;
Bids his Lord good bye, and the chivalry
Who have at court their station.
O, Lord Christ! be each man kept free
From misfortune and tribulation.

“In mind dost bear, King Erik dear,
On whom may blessings pour,
That service I wrought in your father’s court,
Of all his swains the flower?
Both in and out I’ve borne you about
In sunshine and in shower.”

“Yes, service you wrought in my father’s court,
For money and clothes imparted,
And betrayed his life to the foeman’s knife,
Like a monster treacherous hearted.
And as sure as now the crown’s on my brow,
To the wheel thou shalt be carted.”

“Hew off, I intreat, my hands and feet,
Most willingly them I proffer;
My eyes blood red tear out of my head,
And the worst death let me suffer;
But all the pains that Ranild gains
For his treason scarce enough are.”

“Thine eyeballs twain thou may’st retain,
And thy hands and feet unriven;
But thou thy breath shalt yield to a death
The cruellest under heaven;
And be it known, for my father alone
This punishment is given.”

Ranild they brought from Roskild out,
He wrung his hands with sorrow;
And the women all salt tears let fall,
Who lived in that ancient borough.
The wretched wight wished all good night,
And a light heart on the morrow.

Ranild they bore the town before,
The wheel his sight saluted:
“Christ guard each noble from such like trouble,”
In agony he shouted,
“If at Hielm I’d staid it had better sped,
Nor to that had I been devoted.

“Would God would send a trusty friend,
Who would my message carry,
To Kirstine fair, who sits in care,
To Ranild true to tarry.
O Christ help all my babies small,
And bless my bosom’s dearie!

“Ye Christian folk, whom, with dying look,
On the mead I am discerning,
A pater pray for my soul, to stay
Of God the anger burning;
That me He receive this very eve
To the joys for which I’m yearning.”