When together both | on the bed we sat,
That mightily thou | to me wouldst come
From hell and I | from earth to thee.
[21]. “Pile ye up, jarls, | the pyre of oak,
Make it the highest | a hero e’er had;
Let the fire burn | my grief-filled breast,
My sore-pressed heart, | till my sorrows melt.”
[22]. May nobles all | less sorrow know,
And less the woes | of women become,
Since the tale of this | lament is told.