Up spake the King of Norroway
Before the blithe bridàle—
“Why weeps she, haughty Hyldelil?
Why is her cheek so pale?”
He spake, the King of Norroway,
Unto his pages three—
“Now bid him come, the young Sir Biörn,
And speak a word to me.”
In came he, young Sir Biörn,
And stood before the board:
“What wilt thou, King of Norroway,
That thou hast sent me word?”
“Now hearken, young Sir Biörn,
Thou knight so fair and fine!
Say, wilt thou be my seneschal,
And pour my bridal wine?”
“Yea, fain will I be seneschal
All at thy bridal fair,
If I may pour the red, red wine,
Before the bride to bear.”
Sir Biörn poured the mead so brown,
And poured the red, red wine;
The bride she sat full sorrowful,
And wept for dule and pine.
It was the young Sir Biörn
That leaned across the board,
And whispered to that weeping bride
Full many a wooing word:
“Dost mind now, haughty Hyldelil,
What passed between us both,
When, sitting in thy maiden’s bower,
Thou plightedst me thy troth?”
The bride she sat so sorrowful,
And ne’er a word she said—
But her fair face grew white and wan,
That as a rose was red.
Up spake the King of Norroway
In purple wrapped and vair;
“What sayest thou, oh young Sir Biörn,
Unto my bride so fair?