It told me that Margit’s a lady proud,
Whilst you’re the sweet maiden I love most dearly.
Signë.
[Who has only half listened to his words.]
I mind me, we sat in the hearth’s red glow,
One winter evening—’tis long ago—
And you sang to me of the maiden fair
Whom the neckan had lured to his watery lair.
There she forgot both father and mother,
There she forgot both sister and brother;