With downcast eyes she reached him the goblet, brimming filled,--
But with a hand so trembling that wine thereon was spilled:
As evening's shades so ruddy upon the lilies glow,
So gleamed the drops of ruby on hand as white as snow.

The guest the horn accepted with reverential bow,--
Not two men could have drained it, as men are reckoned now,--
Without an instant's waiting the strong man, at a draught,
The lovely queen to honor, the brimming ruby quaffed.

The skald at table seated, his waiting harp brought forth,
And sang a heartfelt story of true love in the North,--
Of Hagbert and of Signe; and at the deep tones' peal
Each warrior's heart was melted, though clad his breast in steel.

He sang of Valhal's mansions, of heroes' blest reward,
Of ancient deeds of valor, on fields of wave and sward;
Then grasped each hand its sword-hilt, then flashed each eye intent,--
And quickly round the table the foaming mead-horn went.

And lively was the drinking within that royal hall,--
An honest Yule carousal engaged the champions all;
The sleep that followed after no care or anger stained;
But Ring, the aged monarch, with Ingeborg remained.




XVIII.