"She'll long like another her friend to see,--
And homeward returning will fly to me:
Your message, bind it
Beneath her flee pinion,--there none will find it."

All day they sat whispering side by side,
Nor ceased the low murmur at eventide;
So breathe in whispers
The zephyrs through lindens at twilight vespers.

But now she has gone, and his joy forsooth
Has gone with the maiden. The blood of youth
His cheek is mounting,
He silently sighs while the past recounting.

His grief at her absence he sent by the dove,
Which joyous set out with its message of love;
But oh! new sorrow,
It stayed with its mate, nor returned on the morrow.

His conduct to Bjorn was displeasing; said he:
"What ails our young eagle, he seems to be
Like some shy sparrow,--
Has his breast or his pinion been pierced by an arrow?

"What wilt thou, Fridthjof? We have for need
The yellow bacon, and the good, brown mead;
And poets singing,
Their jubilant music forever ringing.