In the land of the golden air;
In the land of the lily and rose,
In the land where the sun-birds sing,
Where the purple vine of the wined grape grows,
And the winters are bright with spring.
To the fiords wild came the lateen sail,
To the fiords white and gray,
Where the nights are fire, and the sun is pale,
And the snow-mists veil the day.
“The sail comes back,” said the bards of the halls,