And Hallgerd stood beside him there,
_So many times over comes summer again_
Nor ever once he turned to her,
_What healing in summer if winter be vain?_

Master Odd on the morrow spake,
_So many times over comes summer again._
"Hearken, O guest, if ye be awake,"
_What healing in summer if winter be vain?_
"Sure ye champions of the south
Speak many things from a silent mouth.
And thine, meseems, last night did pray
That ye might well be wed to-day.
The year's ingathering feast it is,
A goodly day to give thee bliss.
Come hither, daughter, fine and fair,
Here is a wooer from Whitewater.
Fast away hath he gotten fame,
And his father's name is e'en my name.
Will ye lay hand within his hand,
That blossoming fair our house may stand?"
She laid her hand within his hand;
White she was as the lily wand.
Low sang Snæbiorn's brand in its sheath,
And his lips were waxen grey as death.
"Snæbiorn, sing us a song of worth.
If your song must be silent from now henceforth.
Clear and loud his voice outrang,
And a song of worth at the wedding he sang.
"Sharp sword," he sang, "and death is sure."