The laurel wreath Apollo gave I would not change for kingly crown; A King is but an exalted slave, Rebellion soon may hurl him down. But who can force me from the height Whereto I’ve soared on Eagle’s wing? I leave to Monarchs ceaseless fright For what the coming day may bring.
Though poor I be, I’ve Minstrelsy, When fortune frowns I’ll strike my lyre; Against the world’s inclemency ’Twill warm my soul with heavenly fire. Then wonder not if proud the air Of one who’s high Apollo’s son; Nor henceforth dare thyself compare With one who quaffs at Helicon.
O Jesus, Thou Fountain of solace and gladness Of Heaven’s high Three second person divine; Forgive, O forgive me my blindness and madness, And guide to Thy kingdom this spirit of mine.
Dearly, O Jesus, Thou boughtest me, Yon Friday dark Upon the tree.
Thy foes were numerous, Fierce and fell; Few and weak those Who wished Thee well.
Nigh stood Thy mother, Full of fears, Wringing her hands And bathed in tears.
Often, O Jesus, Wilfully With my great sins I’ve tortured Thee.
Causing Thy wounds To open again, Waking anew The ancient pain.
All the kindness Thou hast display’d, With black ingratitude I’ve repaid.
But Jesus, Creator of earth and of ocean, Who me, a vile sinner, so dearly didst buy; My damnable ignorance turn to devotion, And guide my poor soul to Thy courts in the sky.
My father up of the country rode, A maiden he would wed; And a foul witch he married then, If the whole truth be said.
The first night they together slept, She was a mother kind to me; But when the second night arrived, A cruel stepmother was she.
I was seated at my father’s board With dogs and whelps amused; Towards me striding my stepmother came, And cruelly me she used.
She changed me to a little hind, Bade me into the forest wend; My seven maids then she changed to wolves, And ordered them my flesh to rend.
But my seven maids would rend me not, So dearly me they loved; Then vexed sore my step-dame was, That no worse my fortune proved.
Sir Orm he serves in the King’s palace, A Knight is he so fair; He sighs for the maiden day and night, But in secret he keeps his care.
Sir Orm he rode from the King’s palace, He could enjoy no peace; He rode into the good green wood, The hart and hind to chase.