I shall linger and die on this island so drear.
In my mind I can see the henchmen
Drinking mead in my father's hall.—
A circle of gold is round every throat,
And joy is among them all.
My merry companions are drinking their ale,
Till thought and care are no more,
While I, torn with wounds from a murderous sword,
Perish here on this island shore.
*The lofty halls of Sigtun,