“Björn said: ‘Thinkest thou the maidens of Sogn will weep much over thee?’ Fridthjof said: ‘Surely, that is in my mind.’ Then the waves rose at the stem so that they rushed into the ship; but the ship was good, and hardy men were in it. Björn sang:
It is not like when a maiden
Wants to drink to thee,
A bright ring-wearing one
That asks thee to come nearer;
Salt is in my eyes;
They are bathed;
My strong arms fail;
My eyelids are smarting.
“Ásmund said: ‘It matters not though you try your arms (baling, rowing), for you did not excuse us when we rose so early in Baldrshagi (sacred grove of Baldr), and we rubbed our eyes.’ ‘Why doest thou not sing, Ásmund?’ asked Fridthjof. ‘I will,’ said Ásmund.