Bridge Troll of Stamford

Words: Angus of Blackmoor
no tune, a story not a song
Source: Collection of Songs by Angus of Blackmoor

The Bridge Troll of Stamford

Near a small stone bridge in far Norway
Three billy goats did graze and play.
Underneath the bridge cold waters did roll
And carried off an old dead troll.

A sleepy time troll woke from sleep so good
And to his brother called to bring his food
Seymour! Seymour! the troll he cried
He didn't know his brother had died.

Along comes the smallest goat
And Wayland's voice came to his throat
And claimed the critter for his meal
And the kid in protest was heard to squeal.

With goat blood dripping from ear to ear
Wayland knew another goat came near
And with an old familiar squeal
Blood splashed from Wayland's second meal.

The third goat, he was big, he would not cry
Great horns lowered, this troll would die.
And battle on the bridge was joined
The troll the goat's life he purloined.

Wayland crawled back to his bed
His stomach hurt from too full fed.
And in his dreams he heard a roar
Like many footsteps past his door.

Awake he rose with a start
And to the bridge top leapt his heart
For there he saw men ten score
Marching and singing their way to war.

Wayland dared them to cross his path
And if they did they'd feel his wrath.
He jumped and he howled and pawed around.
The men of Norway stood their ground.

One of the men took off his helm
His kingly air did overwhelm
And Harald Haradrada was his name
And called for Wayland to join his game.

I, King of Norway, call you to my side
To hunt the Saxons where they hide
And if you help us, them to beat
You may have them all to eat.

So Wayland joined King Harald's host
And sailed away from Norway's coast
To cross the ocean to find a ridge
And claim himself another bridge.

The dragon ships with their mighty striped sails
Rode the high waves on the road of the whales.
And Wayland hung out over the bow
And gave to the fishes most of his chow.

At Stamford he found his bridge to claim
And many Saxons came to maim
But none old Wayland they could reach
A bitter lesson he could teach.

Held his bridge near half the day
And finally a Saxon found a way
And made himself a tiny boat
Underneath the bridge he thought to float.

And up he thrust with his spear
And stabbed our troll that we hold dear.
He screamed as he bent and clutched his pain
But life from him it quickly drained.

And that is the end of Wayland the troll
Into the river his corpse did roll
And out to the sea so far away.
He never returned to cold Norway.

Copyright Charles Dennison. Copyable within the Society for Creative Anachronism.

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