Be thanks to brave young Swaigder,
He kept so well his word;
A Knight he made of that ancient man,
Set him highest at the board.
Now joyful is young Swaigder,
His trouble all has fled;
He King became upon that land,
She Queen, when her sire was dead.
THE HAIL STORM
As in Horunga haven
We fed the crow and raven,
I heard the tempest breaking
Of demon Thorgerd’s waking;
Sent by the fiend in anger,
With din and stunning clangor;
To crush our might intended,
Gigantic hail descended.
A pound the smallest pebble
Did weigh, and others treble;
It drifted, dealing slaughter,
And blood ran out like water,
Ran recking, red and horrid,
From battered cheek and forehead;
But, though so rudely greeted,
No Jornsberg man retreated.
With anger ever sharper,
Thorgerda fierce, and Yrpr,
Shot lightning from each finger,
Which sped and did not linger.
Then sank our brave in numbers
To cold, eternal slumbers;
There lay the good and gallant,
Renowned for warlike talent.
To bide the storm unable
Our chieftain hewed his cable,
And with his ship departed—
We follow, broken-hearted;
For in Horunga haven
Our bravest feed the raven;
We did our best, but no men
Can stand ’gainst hail and foemen.
ROSMER MEREMAN
In Denmark once a lady dwelt,
Hellelil the name she bore;
A castle new that lady built,
It shone all Denmark o’er.
Her daughter dear was stolen away,
She sought for her far and near;
The more she sought the less she found,
To her great distress and care.