Of all ballads this has perhaps obtained the widest circulation. It is nearly as well known to the southern as to the northern nations of Europe. It has an extraordinary currency in Poland. The Germans, Low and High, and the Scandinavians, preserve it, in a full and evidently ancient form, even in the tradition of this generation. Among the Latin nations it has, indeed, shrunk to very meagre proportions, and though the English forms are not without ancient and distinctive marks, most of these have been eliminated, and the better ballads are very brief. In A and B the supernatural character of the Elf-Knight is retained (less clearly in B); in others it is lost completely, and he has become merely "false Sir John" or the like.
The Dutch hallad, 'Halewijn,' is far better preserved than the English. Heer Halewijn sang such a song that those who heard it longed to be with him. A king's daughter asked her father if she might go to Halewijn. "No," he said; "those who go that way never come back." So said mother and sister, but her brother's answer was, "I care not where you go, so long as you keep your honor." She dressed herself splendidly, took the best horse from her father's stable, and rode to the wood, where she found Halewijn waiting for her. They then rode on further, till they came to a gallows, on which many women were hanging.
Halewijn offers her the choice between hanging and the sword. She chooses the sword. "Only take off your coat first; for a maid's blood spirts a great way, and it would be a pity to spatter you." His head was off before his coat, but the tongue still spake. This dialogue ensues: —
'Go yonder into the corn, And blow upon my horn, That all my friends you may warn.'
'Into the corn I will not go, And on your horn I will not blow: A murderer's bidding I will not do!
'Go yonder under the gallows-tree, And fetch a pot of salve for me, And rub my red neck lustily.'
'Under the gallows I will not go, Nor will I rub your red neck, no, A murderer's bidding I will not do.'
She takes the head by the hair and washes it in a spring, and rides back through the wood. Half-way through she meets Halewijn's mother, who asks after her son; and she tells her that he is gone hunting, that he will never be seen again, that he is dead, and she has his head in her lap. When she came to her father's gate, she blew the horn like any man.
And when the father heard the strain, He was glad she had come back again.
Thereupon they held a feast, The head was on the table placed.
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