O merry days in the summer-tide!
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun.
When the ships sail fair and the young men ride,
So grey is the sea when day is done.
Now Harald has got him east away,
And each morrow of fight was a gainful day.
But Knut is to his fosterer gone
To deal in deeds of peace alone.
So wear the days, and well it is
Such lovely lords should dwell in bliss.