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.