"Young gallant," said he, "thou must taste my old mead."

Sir Fridleif unbuckled his helmet and drank;
Sweat sprung from his forehead--his features grew blank.

"I never have drain'd, since the day I was born,
A bitterer draught, from a costlier horn:

"My course is completed, my life is summ'd up,
For treason I smell in the dregs of the cup."

Sir Erik then said, while he stamp'd on the ground,
"Young knight, 't is thy fortune to die like a hound.

"My best belov'd friend thou didst boast to have slain,
And I have aveng'd him by giving thee bane:

"Not Helga, but Hela, {1} shall now be thy bride;
Dark blue are her cheeks, and she looks stony-eyed."

"Sir Erik, thy words are both witty and wise,
And hell, when it has thee, will have a rich prize!

"Convey unto Helga her gold ring so red;
Be sure to inform her when Fridleif is dead;

"But flame shall give water, and marble shall bleed,
Before thou shalt win by this treacherous deed:

"And I will not die like a hound, in the straw,