I will bear my bride away
Far over the sea-road Eric the Red,
Past Helluland the fair,
To the pine-plumed mountain that lifts its head
In the land of the golden air;
To the land of the lily and rose.
The land where the sun-birds sing,
Where the purple vine of the wined grape grows,
And the winters are bright with spring.”
From the fiords white moved the lateen sail,