"Better was it kissing
her in Balder's temple,
Than to stand here tasting
Salt-foam as it whirls.
Better 'twas embracing
Bele's royal daughter
Than to stand here gripping
Fast the rudder's helm."
From the cold sky's field
Snows intense prevail,
And on deck and shield
Rattling storms of hail.
Lo, o'er all the vessel flying
Night has placed her sable pall,
As in rooms where dead are lying,
Gloomy darkness covers all.
Wave implacable now lashes
Toward his doom the sailor brave
White-gray as with sifted ashes
Frightful yawns a boundless grave.
"Pillows Ran is making,
Luring us to quiet;
Thine I know are waiting,
Ingeborg, for me.
Faithful men are plying
Oars of good Ellide;
Gods the keel have made us,
Bear us yet awhile."
———
See the sea advances,
Seeking now a wreck,
Ere the eye can glance,
Clears the starboard deck.
Fridthjof's sinewy arm adorning,
Shone a massive golden ring,
Bright its rays of early morning,
'Twas the gift of Bele, king.
This in many pieces broken,—
Made by dwarfs with skillful art,—
Gives to all on board a token.
Every man receives a part.
"Gold is good to carry
When you go a-wooing,
Empty-handed no one
Comes to sea-blue Ran.
Cold is she to kisses,
Flee'th from embraces,
But the sea-bride yieldeth
Met with shining gold."