Chapter 40 : 
Hildebrand And Hellelil
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Author : William Morris

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TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH. 



Hellelil sitteth in bower there,  
None knows my grief but God alone,  
And seweth at the seam so fair,  
I never wail my sorrow to any other one.  

But there whereas the gold should be  
With silk upon the cloth sewed she.  

Where she should sew with silken thread  
The gold upon the cloth she laid.  

So to the Queen the word came in  
That Hellelil wild work doth win.  

Then did the Queen do furs on her  
And went to Hellelil the fair.  

"O swiftly sewest thou, Hellelil,  
Yet naught but mad is thy sewing still!"  

"Well may my sewing be but mad  
Such evil hap as I have had.  

My father was good king and lord,  
Knights fifteen served before his board.  

He taught me sewing royally,  
Twelve knights had watch and ward of me.  

Well served eleven day by day,  
To folly the twelfth did me bewray.  

And this same was hight Hildebrand,  
The King's son of the English Land.  

But in bower were we no sooner laid  
Than the truth thereof to my father was said.  

Then loud he cried o'er garth and hall:  
'Stand up, my men, and arm ye all!  

'Yea draw on mail and dally not,  
Hard neck lord Hildebrand hath got!'  

They stood by the door with glaive and spear;  
'Hildebrand rise and hasten here!'  

Lord Hildebrand stroked my white white cheek:  
'O love, forbear my name to speak.  

'Yea even if my blood thou see,  
Name me not, lest my death thou be.'  

Out from the door lord Hildebrand leaped,  
And round about his good sword swept.  

The first of all that he slew there  
Were my seven brethren with golden hair.  

Then before him stood the youngest one,  
And dear he was in the days agone.  

Then I cried out:  'O Hildebrand,  
In the name of God now stay thine hand.  

'O let my youngest brother live  
Tidings hereof to my mother to give!'  

No sooner was the word gone forth  
Than with eight wounds fell my love to earth.  

My brother took me by the golden hair,  
And bound me to the saddle there.  

There met me then no littlest root,  
But it tore off somewhat of my foot.  

No littlest brake the wild-wood bore,  
But somewhat from my legs it tore.  

No deepest dam we came unto  
But my brother's horse he swam it through.  

But when to the castle gate we came,  
There stood my mother in sorrow and shame.  

My brother let raise a tower high,  
Bestrewn with sharp thorns inwardly.  

He took me in my silk shirt bare  
And cast me into that tower there.  

And wheresoe'er my legs I laid  
Torment of the thorns I had.  

Wheresoe'er on feet I stood  
The prickles sharp drew forth my blood.  

My youngest brother me would slay  
But my mother would have me sold away.  

A great new bell my price did buy  
In Mary's Church to hang on high.  

But the first stroke that ever it strake  
My mother's heart asunder brake."  

So soon as her sorrow and woe was said,  
None knows my grief but God alone,  
In the arm of the Queen she sat there dead,  
I never tell my sorrow to any other one.  


     From : Marxists.org

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     Chapter 40 -- Added : February 26, 2021

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