Ballads from the Danish and Original Verses

In Short

This collection brings together traditional Danish folk ballads, meticulously rendered into English verse, alongside original poems composed in the same haunting, rhythmic style. The book traverses a landscape of mythic troll-kings, vengeful spirits, and star-crossed lovers, bridging the gap between ancient Scandinavian lore and the turbulent history of the Scottish Jacobite risings. It remains a resonant work because it captures the primal, dark beauty of the ballad form—where the supernatural is a constant neighbor and the weight of honor often leads to a tragic, inevitable end.

The Story

The narrative arc of the book begins in the realm of myth, where Saint Olaf confronts the ancient, stone-bound trolls of Hornelummer. Here, the boundary between the living world and the primordial forces of nature is thin and easily breached. We move from these divine encounters into the sphere of human passion and deceit, as seen in the story of Sir Karel, who feigns death to liberate his lover from a cloister, and the bloody, relentless quest of Sir Peter, who hacks his way through a royal court to avenge his father’s blood, eventually turning his blade upon an infant to ensure his vengeance is complete.

The tone deepens into darker, more melancholic territory as we witness the price of these violent choices. A Princess is lured to a watery grave by a merman posing as a king, and a young woman, Elva, makes a devil’s bargain with a wood-raven, promising her firstborn child to secure her lover’s safety. As the book transitions into its original verses, the focus shifts to the historical and the doomed. A king, misled by a witch’s prophecy, accidentally slays his own son in the guise of a werewolf, and Sir Herluin finds that even the cold comfort of the grave cannot sever the bond of love that ties him to his Margaret.

The final movement of the book is anchored in the failed hopes of the 1745 Jacobite rising. Prince Charlie rides through the misty Scottish hills, warned by the fairy folk (the Shee) that his cause is destined for ruin. The dream of a golden crown dissolves into the harsh reality of the gallows and the exile of the "traitor," whose head, mounted on Temple Bar, serves as a grim observer of the city below. The story ends not with a return to peace, but with the haunting perspective of the dead, who watch the living with a mixture of pity and contempt, having finally doffed the "fear and fraud" of the world to find their place among the eternal stars.

How It Unfolds

The encounter with the ancient Saint Olaf challenges the trolls of the mountain, binding them to the stone for eternity. This sets a precedent of divine and magical intervention that echoes throughout the subsequent tales.

The shift to human vengeance Sir Peter’s quest for his father’s killer illustrates the brutality of personal codes of honor. The cycle of blood becomes a consuming fire that leaves no room for mercy.

The cost of supernatural bargains Maidens and knights engage in pacts with ravens and mermen, trading their futures for fleeting desires. These deals always demand a heavy, often macabre, price.

The tragedy of history The perspective narrows to the Scottish moors and the doomed rebellion of Prince Charlie. The mythic tone of the earlier ballads now frames the suffering of real people caught in the machinery of politics and war.

The final silent witness The book closes on the severed head of a traitor, who mocks the living from his perch on Temple Bar. This final beat provides a chilling, detached summary of the human condition as viewed from beyond the grave.

The People

Saint Olaf acts as a figure of absolute authority, whose faith allows him to command the very earth and sea. He is contrasted with the "ugly trolls," who represent the raw, chaotic power of the wild that must be suppressed. Sir Peter is the personification of relentless, cold-blooded duty. He is so consumed by the need to avenge his father that he becomes a monster, even slaughtering a babe in a cradle to satisfy his dark code.

The maidens, such as Kirsten and Elva, are often defined by their devotion and the tragic bargains they strike. Kirsten’s bravery in opening her bower to her dead lover, Sir Aager, reveals a profound, terrifying commitment that transcends physical death. Conversely, the "witless wife" and the "witch-wife" serve as conduits to the supernatural, possessing knowledge that the worldly knights and kings lack. Finally, the figure of the Traitor on Temple Bar stands as a bridge between the living and the dead, a sardonic commentator on the vanity of the world who has achieved a grim, final clarity that no one else in the book possesses.

In Its Own Voice

“At Hornelummer is no good haven, / So grim a troll dwells there.”

This warning from the steersman establishes the perilous nature of the king's journey into the troll's domain.

“For every tear thou weepest / In woeful mood, / Into my coffin falls a drop / Of thy heart’s blood.”

The dead knight, Sir Aager, explains the terrifying physical toll his spectral return has on his living beloved.

“Wasted and wan, under sun and star, / Stares the head of the traitor on Temple Bar.”

The opening lines of the final ballad set a somber, detached tone for the meditation on the end of the Jacobite cause.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the permanence of consequences. Whether one is dealing with a mountain troll or a king’s army, every action—particularly those driven by honor, vengeance, or forbidden love—leaves a scar upon the world. The author probes the tension between the "White Christ" and the older, darker gods of the land, suggesting that even as societies change, the primitive human impulses for blood-letting and tragic attachment remain constant. It asks whether love or duty is more destructive, and ultimately argues that the dead possess a truer perspective than the living, who are still blinded by the "dross and dust" of their own ambitions.

Why Read It Today

This collection is for readers who appreciate the stark, rhythmic power of folk poetry and the unsettling beauty of the "liminal"—those spaces where the boundary between this world and the next is thin. If you are drawn to the atmosphere of old ballads, where a single line can carry the weight of a century’s grief, you will find much to admire here. The language is sharp and precise, avoiding sentimentality in favor of a bracing, often brutal, clarity.

Be prepared, however, for the unrelenting grimness of the subject matter. These are not comforting stories; they are tales of severed heads, heartless bargains, and the cold reality of the grave. The archaic phrasing and the occasional shifts into dialect (such as the Scots of the Jacobite ballads) require a steady, attentive reader who enjoys deciphering the cadence of older verse. What stays with you long after the final page is the sense of a haunting, eternal song—the "cry of the horn on the hill"—that reminds us that while our lives are fleeting, the stories we weave out of our joys and tragedies are the only things that truly endure. It is a book that demands to be read aloud, preferably on a dark evening, to capture its full, unsettling resonance.