Falcon he left,
Mine shalt thou be, winged hunter bereft;
I for thy owner will heed thee,
Lovingly feed thee.
Here on his hand~
'Broidering I'll picture thee on the cloth's rand,
Silvery pinions I'll give thee,
Golden claws weave thee.
Once, it is said,
Freyja with falcon-wings north and south sped,
Seeking for Oder, her lover,
All the world over.
Vainly I seek
Wings of the falcon, for mortals too weak.
Only in passing death's portal
Soareth a mortal.
Sit here with me,
Beautiful hunter and look at the sea;—
Longing and looking forever
Bringeth him never.
Dead shall I be,
When Fridthjof comes again over the sea;
Bear thou my love for his weeping,
I shall be sleeping.
X.
FRIDTHJOF AT SEA.
On shore king Helge stood,
By turns he sang and prayed,
And in embittered mood
Besought the goblins' aid.
See! the heavens with darkness toiling,
Empty space with thunders boom,
Lo, the furious waves are boiling,
Ocean's surface hid with foam.
Lightnings now the clouds are streaking,
Here and there a bloody rand,
All the sea-fowls now are shrieking.
Hasting to the safer strand.