"The steeds impatiently stamp in the stalls,--
To the chase! to the chase! the falcon calls;
But Fridthjof retaineth
His gloom. He hunteth in clouds and complaineth.

"Ellide is restless upon the main,--
She frets and she chafes at her cable chain;
Lie still my treasure!
Our Fridthjof is peaceable. Strife is no pleasure.

"Who dies on his pallet,, is dead indeed;
By the lance, as did Odin, we'll die, if need,--
And thus ensure us
A welcome to Hel, and heaven secure us."

Then Fridthjof unloos'd the dragon,--and proud,
With full swelling canvas, the waves she plowed,
And swiftly over
The bay to the palace she bore the lover.

The kings were at Bele's grave met that day,--
To administer justice and counsel weigh;
Fridthjof advances,--
His voice sounds afar like clashing lances.

"Ye kings, lovely Ing'borg, the people's pride,
I choose, from all women, to be my bride;
The king intended
Our lives thus united in one should be blended.