Hard is his fortune!—
Oh, faithless Harald:
Death's ravens roving
Ride o'er thy ting-peace!
Fetch forth the wagon,
Drive to the fighting!
At home to cower
Would cost my life now.
(On the way)
O yeomen, yield not,
Circle and save him!
Eindride, aid now
Thine aged father!
Build a shield-bulwark
For him bow-bending!
Death has no allies
Like Einar's arrows!
And thou, Saint Olaf,
Oh, for thy son's sake!
Help him with good words
In Gimle's high hall!
( Nearer )
Our foes are the stronger …
They fight now no longer …
Subduing,
Pursuing,
They press to the river,—
What is it that's done?
What makes me thus quiver?
Will fortune us shun?
What stillness astounding!
The peasants are staying,
Their lances now grounding,
Two dead men surrounding,
Nor Harald delaying!
What throngs now enwall
The ting-hall's high door! …
Silent they all
Let me pass o'er!
Where is Eindride!—
Glances of pity
Fear lest they show it,
Flee lest they greet me …
So I must know it:
Two deaths there will meet me!—
Room! I must see:
Oh, it is they!—
Can it so be?—
Yes, it is they!
Fallen the noblest
Chief of the Northland;
Best of Norwegian
Bows is broken.