"Caught at last is the wily fox,
Vain all thought of flying;
Think of her with the golden locks,
Of Framness wasted lying."
Thus he spake, and the purse he'd brought,
Forth he quickly drew it,
Careless of the mischief wrought,
In Helge's face he threw it.
Darkness swam before the eyes
Of asas' kinsman sainted;
Blood gushed forth, he could not rise,
But near his altar fainted.
"With the gold you as tribute claim,
Are you overpowered?
None shall Angervadil blame
For felling such a coward.
"Silence, priests with altar-knives,
Moonshine princes, quiet!
Else my sword may drink your lives;
Thirsting 'tis to try it.
"Holy Balder, thy wrath forbear,
Nor 'gainst me enrol it:
But the arm-ring which you wear,
Yonder craven stole it.
"Not for thee did Volund old
Work its fair dimensions;
The maiden wept, but the thief was bold;
Away, such false pretensions."
Bravely drew he; together fast
Arm and ring seemed growing;
Angered Balder, when loosed at last,
Fell 'mid the embers glowing.
Hark! each flame, as it leaps on high,
A golden tooth resembles;
Bjorn, all pale, stands the doorway nigh,
Fridthjof, anxious, trembles.
"Open, Bjorn, let the people go,
Bv watchmen unimpeded;
The temple burns; throw water, throw
The ocean full, if needed."