THE SON’S SORROW.
FROM THE ICELANDIC.
The King has asked of his son so good,
“Why art thou hushed and heavy of mood?
O fair it is to ride abroad.
Thou playest not, and thou laughest not;
All thy good game is clean forgot.”
“Sit thou beside me, father dear,
And the tale of my sorrow shalt thou hear.
Thou sendedst me unto a far-off land,
And gavest me into a good Earl’s hand.
Now had this good Earl daughters seven,
The fairest of maidens under heaven.
One brought me my meat when I should dine,
One cut and sewed my raiment fine.
One washed and combed my yellow hair,
And one I fell to loving there.
Befell it on so fair a day,
We minded us to sport and play.
Down in a dale my horse bound I,
Bound on my saddle speedily.
Bright red she was as the flickering flame
When to my saddle-bow she came.