To two of her servants proud Mettelil spake:
“Do ye quickly a fire on the open field make.
“Do ye cut down the oak and the bonny ash-tree,
That the fire by them fed may burn brilliant and free.”
Dame Ingeborg forth from the house they convey’d,
And they burnt her to dust on the fire they had made.
Sir Volmor came home from the red field of strife,
Then tidings assailed him, with dolour so rife.
Then tidings assailed him, with dolour so rife,
Burnt, burnt was his mother, and flown was his wife.
He bade for proud Lyborg of red gold a store,
But he could the lily obtain nevermore.
THE FAITHFUL KING OF THULE
A king so true and steady
In Thule lived of old;
To him his dying lady
A goblet gave of gold.
He drank thereout so often,
For all his love it gained;
To tears his eyes would soften
Whene’er its juice he drained.
When death drew nigh, his spirit
His riches o’er he told
To him who should inherit—
But not that cup of gold.