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hen all they went to town,

By dale and eke by down. They met with Aylmer King (Christ give him his fair blessing!) The King of Westernesse (Christ give him mickle bliss!) He spake unto Horn Child Words that were very mild: 'Fair friends, tell whence ye be,

Come but now off the sea,

All

ye thirteen

Of body very keen.

By God that created me,
So fair a company
Never yet saw I stand
In all of Westernesse land.
Say to me what ye seek.'
Horn began to speak;
Horn spake for them all,
For so it must befall;
He was of all the fairest

And of wit he was the best.
Quoth Horn, 'We be of Sudenne,
Begotten of good men,

Come of Christian blood
And of kindred very good.
There Paynims gan arrive
And left none alive;
They slew and all to-tore
Christian men in their gore.
So Christ save me alive,
Us all they gan to drive
Into a little galley
Over the sea to play.

One day is gone and another;

Without a sail or rudder,

Our ship began to swim

Unto this land's brim.

Thou mayst slay us or bind
Both our hands behind;
But if thy will it be,

Help us good days to see.'

hen spake out the good king,
Certes he was no Nithing:
'Naught but good befall thee;
Tell me how men call thee.'
Horn answered him a word,
So soon as he it heard:
'Horn did men christen me,
Come but now off the sea,
All from the sea side.
King, good thee betide!'
'Horn Child,' quoth the king,
'Well fulfill thy naming.
Horn, sound thou shrill
By dale and eke by hill;
Horn, loud do thou sound
By down and dale around.
So shall thy name spring
Abroad from king to king,
And thy might and thy fairness
About all Westernesse,

The mightiness of thy hand

Far into every land.

Horn, thou art so sweet,

Thee I may not forget.'

ome rode Aylmer the king,

And with him his new finding,

With Horn his fellows all
That were so fair and tall.
The king came into hall
Amongst his knights all.

He bade call Athelbrus,

The steward of his house.
'Horn Child to me is dear,
Steward, teach him here
To hunt far by the flood,
By river and by wood,
By wood and by field,
And to ride under shield;
And teach him to harp
With his nails sharp,
Before me for to carve
And with the cup serve.
And teach him of the best,

All that ever thou wist.
For his fellows eke devise
What is good in thine eyes.
Horn keep thou long,

And teach him harp and song.'
Athelbrus taught Horn
All that he might learn;
Horn kept in his thought
All that he him taught.
In the court and out,
And everywhere about,
All men loved Horn Child.

And most of all Rymenhild,

The king's own maiden daughter,
Of him she aye bethought her;
She so loved Horn Child
That nigh she gan wax wild.

For she might not at the board
With him ever speak a word,
Nor speak with him in hall
Amongst the knights all,
Nor in any other stead;
Of folk she had alway dread.

Her pain and eke her sorrow
She felt on eve and morrow;
Nor by night nor by day
A word might she ever say
To Horn so fair and free,
With him might never be.
In heart she had care and woe,
But this she thought to do,-
She sent her message thus
To the steward Athelbrus,
That he should her attend,
And Child Horn should send
All alone to her bower;
For woe she gan to lower.
Her messenger to him said.
That sick lay that maid,
And bade him come forthwith,
For she was nothing blithe.

The steward in heart was wo,

For he wist not what to do; That which Rymenhild wrought, Great wonder he it thought, That Horn Child the young To bower he should bring. He thought deep in his mood It might be for no good. He took with him another, Athulf, Horn's sworn brother. 'Athulf,' he said, 'right now To bower with me shalt thou, To speak with Rymenhild And wit what she hath willed. To Horn thou art so like, Rymenhild thou shalt trick. Very sorely I dread

That she would Horn mislead.'

he steward and Athulf too,
To bower they gan to go.
Anon over Athulf Child
Rymenhild waxed wild.

She weened that Horn it were
That she had by her there.
She sat her down full still,
And said all of her will.
In her two arms fair
Athulf she held there.
'Horn', quoth she, 'for long
I have thee loved right strong.
Thy troth thou shalt me plight
On my hand here ere night,
Me as spouse to take;
Thee my lord I make.'

thulf bent him near

And said soft in her ear: 'No word more shalt thou say, For Horn is far away.

He is not like to me,

He is rich and fair to see,
One little finger of him

Is more than another's limb.
Though Horn were under ground,
Where he might not be found,
Or hence a thousand mile,
Him I would not beguile.'
Rymenhild turned about
And Athelbrus thrust out:
'Go hence, thou false thief,
To me be no more lief.
Get thee out of my bower,
May shame upon thee shower!
May a pest seize thy blood,
High mayst thou hang on rood!

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