I almost fear that ’twill little please you; but that must be as it may.
Gudmund.
[To himself.] Saints in heaven, surely she would not—!
Margit.
It was a fair and noble maid,
She dwelt in her father’s hall;
Both linen and silk did she broider and braid,
Yet found in it solace small.
For she sat there alone in cheerless state,
Empty were hall and bower;