“With love-moved mouth the maiden
Mepledgeth though I founder.
Ah! bright sheets lay a-bleaching,
East there on brents the swan loves.”
Biorn said: “Art thou of mind belike that the maids of Sogn will weep many tears over thee?”
Said Frithiof: “Surely that was in my mind.”
Therewith so great a sea broke over the bows, that the water came in like the in-falling of a river; but it availed them much that the ship was so good, and the crew aboard her so hardy.
Now sang Biorn:
“No widow, methinks,
To thee or me drinks;
No ring-bearer fair
Biddeth draw near;
Salt are our eyne
Soaked in the brine;
Strong our arms are no more,
And our eyelids smart sore.”
Quoth Asmund: “Small harm though your arms be tried somewhat, for no pity we had from you when we rubbed our eyes whenas ye must needs rise early a-mornings to go to Baldu's Meadows.”
“Well,” said Frithiof, “why singest thou not, Asmund?”
“Not I,” said Asmund; yet sang a ditty straightway:
“Sharp work about the sail was
When o'er the ship seas tumbled,
And there was I a-working
Within-board 'gainst eight balers;
Better it was to bower,
Bringing the women breakfast,
Than here to be 'mid billows
Black Ellidi a-baling.”