Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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A Dorsetshire Legend.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
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A Dorsetshire Legend.
I.
Thorkill and Thorston from Jutland cameTo torture us Saxons with sword and flame,
To strip our homesteads and thorps and crofts,
To burn our barns and hovels and lofts,
To fell our kine and slay our deer,
To strip the orchard and drag the mere,
To butcher our sheep and reap our corn,
To fire our coverts of fern and thorn,
Driving the wolves and boars in bands
To raven and prey on our Saxon lands.—
We had watched for their galleys day and night,
From sunrise until beacon-light;
But still the sea lay level and dead,
And never a sail came round the Head.—
We watched in vain till one Autumn day,
When a woolly fog that northward lay
Sullenly rose, and the broad grey sea
Sparkled and danced in the full bright sun
(The shadows were purple as they could be):
Then stealing round by Worbarrow Bay,
Past Lulworth Cove and the White Swyre Head,
The black sails came, and every one
When they saw the sight turned pale as the dead.
II.
The black sails spread in a long curved line,Like a shoal of dog-fish, or rather of sharks,
When, chasing the porpoise in the moonshine,
They leave behind them a drift of sparks.
Those coal-black sails bore slowly on,
Past Kingsland Bay and Osmington,
By the white cliff of Bindon Hill,
Past Kimmeridge and Gad Cliff Mill;—
Then with a bolder fiercer swoop
Bore down the Danish robber troop,
Skimming around St. Adhelm's Head,
With its chantry chapel and its rocks
Stained green and brown by tempest shocks,
And its undercliff all moss and heather,
And ivy cable and green fern feather,
And steered straight on for Studland Bay,
Where all our Saxon treasure lay.
III.
Their sails, as black as a starless night,Came moving on with a sullen might;
Rows of gleaming shields there hung
Over the gunwales, in order slung;
And the broad black banners fluttered and flapped
Like raven's pinions, as dipped and lapped
The Norsemen's galleys; their axes shone.—
Every Dane had a hauberk on,
Glittering gold; how each robber lord
Waved in the air his threatening sword!—
One long swift rush through serf and foam,
And they leapt ere the rolling waves had gone,
On our Saxon shore, their new-found home.
With a clash of collars and targe and spear,
With a laughing shout and a rolling cheer,
Like wolf-hounds when the wolf's at bay
Those bearded warriors leapt ashore—
(If there was one there were forty score)—
And dragged their galleys with fierce uproar
To where our fishing-vessels lay:
Who dare resist? Woe worth the day!
IV.
They drank our ale and stole our corn,And slew our sheep and burnt our ricks,
And long, long, long before the morn,
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And filled the chalice and paten with blood
Of monks they had hung to the Holy Rood.
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V.
Thorkill was old and worn and grey,The best of his years had passed away;
Grim and silent, he hated our race:—
He'd sworn by Odin he would deface
Every cross on our Saxon shore,
And light the cliffs for fifty mile
With fires to make the Norsemen smile.
But Thorston his brother was fair and young,
With chest like a bull, and knotty brow,
Bold and frank, and merry and brave,
Liking nothing so much as a blow,
And no home like the tossing wave.
A walrus-horn at his breast there hung,
Great rings of gold and amber bound
His wrists and ankles and neck around.
VI.
They seized our Bishop Witikind,And bound him while they drank to Thor,
Who had brought them safe to the Saxon shore.
The old man, patient, calm, resigned,
His pale thin face all streaked with gore,
Stood praying there, as they ate their feast
And quaffed the mead and slew the beast.—
He stood in his robes of cloth of gold,
And jewelled mitre and broidered cope,
And while the legend and tale they told,
The helmsmen bound him with knotty rope;
And they scoffed, and mocked, and drank to him,
Cursing his god; and then they flung
The logs from their bonfire; limb by limb
Maiming and bruising and torturing him,
The while the abbey bells they rung,
Till Thorkill threw him upon the board,
And Thorston smote him with axe and sword.
VII.
Our women were hid in Wareham caves,There looking out on the sky and waves;
They were praying for us, who, on the down,
Were watching the flames of our burning town.
VIII.
We trapped the sleeping wolves as they lay,Drunk with wine 'mid their spoil and prey;
Thorkill and Thorston with cords we bound,
The others we lashed as one lashes a hound;—
Their hands were red with our children's blood,
Having slain a dozen in Peverel Wood.
We led the rest out to the plashes,
Down by the brook near the pollard ashes,
Seating them there on a fallen tree,
Ankles and knees tied fast with cord,
A twist of oziers in each rogue's hair,
As a grip for the hand, so that the sword
Might sweep at the necks left white and fair.
IX.
There they sat, but not like felons,Or trembling like doves in the falcons' talons,
But bold, erect, and with eyes keen bent,
To see our Eldermen's intent.
Caring no more for the blow of death
Than a tough oak does for a passing breath.
Thorkill and Thorston, stiff as stone,
Stood bound to a neighbouring tree alone.
X.
The outermost man was first to die,Then we beheaded the next in turn,
Throwing his head on a heap of fern
Laid there to sop up the Danish blood,
As you throw a dead dog carelessly
When you've caught him poaching in a wood.
As the headsman passed he severally
Asked each in the row if he feared death.
Third Dane, growling between his teeth,—
“What befell my father must happen to me:
Better to perish and gloriously
Than live a felon and slave like thee.”
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For we've been guessing this very day
Whether a headless man can feel;
Let me then grasp a knife in my hand,
And if, when my head falls, I shall throw
The knife in return for the coward blow,
Then you Saxons will understand
That I felt the pain. Strike quick, thou slave,
Come, settle the matter, you sturdy knave.”
The headsman lifted his axe and smote,
But the knife dropped down on the gory sand.
“Aim at my face,” the fifth man cried,
“I will not flinch, for it is our pride
In Jutland never to blench nor shrink,
Mouth to quiver, nor eyelid wink.”—
The headsman smote him full in the teeth,
And he dropt dead on the crimson heath.
XI.
Alfric paused when he saw but twoOf all the Norsemen band remained.
Thorkill and Thorston, they of the crew
The proudest, though with fresh blood bestained.
Thorston was still in the bloom of youth.
Eyes all glowing with love and truth,
Golden hair that fell clustering down
Over his cheek of ruddy brown.
“Do you fear death?” said one of our band,
Swinging the axe in his threatening hand.
“What is fear?” cried the stripling Dane.
“But I pray thee let no serf strike me,
Nor one whose hand these murders stain.”
Then I, who had power to pardon and save,
Came and said, “What if I spare thy life,
Thou Jutland robber?” “Who is it asks?”
He said, with bold eye glancing brave;
“We Danes know nothing of Saxon tasks.
What must I pay to thee, Jarl?” he said.
“Loose him,” I cried, “and let him free.”—
Alfric, maddened to hear the Dane,
He, who had slain the sturdiest men,—
Ran with his heavy curtal axe,
And said, “If the older rogue go free,
Thorston at least shall pay the tax.”
But the young Dane threw him swiftly down,
And Alfric falling, the binding cord
Was in the struggle cut with a sword.
Thorston his freedom quick regained,
And with one blow was Alfric brained.
Yet in a moment twenty or more
Bound the Dane faster than before.
Then I asked Thorston if he would deign,
Being a noble Pirate and Thane,
To grasp us with the hand of peace,
And let all strife from that day cease.
“Yea will I,” bold the young man cried.
“Gladly,” cried Thorkill, “once for all,
Friends on the wave, and friends in hall.”
“Undo the rope,” I cried: 't was done,—
And we were friends ere set of sun.
Twice was the battle at Wareham won,
For we found the old saw still run true,
“Brave enemies make brave friends,” they say.
Bertha, my sister, Thorston wed;
And when old Thorkill was one year dead,
Thorston o'er Jutland's fiords blue
And over the mainland had the sway.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |