Golden mane flowing,
Draweth the spring sun more bright than before;
Morning beams glowing
Doubly as beauteous,
Sport in the hall; — there’s a knock at the door.
Though his heart grieveth,
Enters the stranger;
Pale sits the king, while the queen’s gentle breast
Singeth the ranger
A song of departure, with sorrow oppressed.
“Bathes now the billow
Winged steed flying,
Sea-horse is longing to flee from the strand;
Glad will he follow
Him who is hieing
Far from his home and his well beloved land.
“The arm-ring I give thee,
Ing’borg, receive it.
Holiest memories with it remain.
Ne’er let it leave thee:
Fridthjof, believe me
Truly forgives. Thou’lt not see him again.
“No more beholding
The smoke’s upward motion
Northland I’ll see. Truly man is a slave;
Fate is unyielding;
Far on the ocean
There is my fatherland, there is my grave.
“When in your roaming
Stars the vault cover,
Go not with Ingeborg down to the strand;
Lest in the gloaming
You should discover
Fridthjof, the outlawed, cast up on the sand.”
“Sad is the hearing,”
Ring said, replying,
“When a man moans like a weak maiden’s sigh.
Valhal is nearing,
E’en now the sighing
Death song I hear. Every mortal must die.
“No one can frighten,
Or by complaining
Change the allotment the norns have set down;
Sorrow thou’lt lighten
O’er the land reigning, —
Take thou my queen, for my son guard the crown.
“True is it spoken,
Loved and respected
Peaceful I’ve reigned, over mountain and vale;
Yet have I broken
Landward and seaward, without turning pale.
“Now shall the bleeding
Geirs-odd relieve me, —
Dying in bed ill befits Northland’s kings;
Not worth my heeding,
Death shall receive me, —
Life’s pain is equal to that which death brings.”
Then carved he rightly
Letters all glowing, —
Death runes to Odin on arm and on chest;
Shine now so brightly
Dyeing the silvery hair on his breast.
“Bring for my drinking
The horn with wine flowing;
Skoal to thy honor, thou land of my birth!
Minds deeply thinking,
Harvest fields growing, —
Peaceful exploits have I loved on the earth.
“Vain amid slaughter
Bloody and daring,
Sought I for peace, — she fled in dismay.
Now the mild daughter
Of heaven appearing,
Beckons me hence to Valhal away.
“Hail ye immortals!
Sons of high heaven!
Earth disappears; Gjallarhorn to a feast
Opens the portals;
By the gods given,
Blessedness crowns as a helmet the guest!”
Ing’borg’s hand loyal,
Also his son’s, and his friend’s, too, he pressed;
Eyelids close gently, —
Spirit so royal
Flies with a sigh to the Allfather’s breast.
Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 12:00