“Hear thou, Sir Thor, I tell thee plain,
My faith and troth thou may’st obtain.
“My faith and troth I would plight to thee
If I knew thou would’st be true to me.”
“May Christ destroy the dastard vile
Who a noble maid would ever beguile!”
She gave him her troth with her hand so fair,
But what she did more there was none aware.
From his hand a gold bracelet he unbound,
And placed it the Damsel’s arm around.
“Hear me, May Thure,” then said he,
“How long wilt thou tarry a maid for me?”
“I will, Sir Thor, if need there be,
For eighteen winters wait for thee.”
“So long a time thou need’st not wait,
No longer a time than winters eight.”
When the eight winters they were o’er
The damsel began to grieve so sore.
The damsel began to grieve so sore,
And briny tears from her eyes to pour.