Golden mane flowing,
Skinfaxe duteous
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
Billow-like heaveth;
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