Sir Erik then said, while he stamp’d on the ground,
“Young knight, ’t is thy fortune to die like a hound.
“My best belov’d friend thou didst boast to have slain,
And I have aveng’d him by giving thee bane:
“Not Helga, but Hela, [1] shall now be thy bride;
Dark blue are her cheeks, and she looks stony-eyed.”
“Sir Erik, thy words are both witty and wise,
And hell, when it has thee, will have a rich prize!
“Convey unto Helga her gold ring so red;
Be sure to inform her when Fridleif is dead;
“But flame shall give water, and marble shall bleed,
Before thou shalt win by this treacherous deed:
“And I will not die like a hound, in the straw,
But go, like a hero, to Odin and Thor.”
He cut himself thrice, with his keen-cutting glaive,
And went to Valhalla, [2] the way of the brave.
The knight bade his daughter come into the room:
“Look here, my sweet child, on thy merry bridegroom.”
She look’d on the body, and gave a wild start;
“O father, why hadst thou so cruel a heart?”