"My kingdom doth not seek protection from thee,
I shield it myself. My man wouldst thou be,--
A situation
Among my domestics befits thy station."

"Thy servant! no, never!" was Fridthjof's reply,
"My father had never a master--shall I?
From thy silver dwelling
Now fly, Angervadil, the insult repelling."

In sunshine now glitters the blue steel blade,--
Displaying its letters in flaming red.
"My good sword loyal,
Thy lineage at least," said Fridthjof, "is royal.

"And were it not now for the high grave's renown,
Right here would I hew thee, swarthy king, down:
Yet will I teach thee
To come not again where my sword can reach thee."

So saying, be severed at one fell blow
The gold shield of Helge which hung on a bough.
It fell asunder,--
Its clang on the grave-mound was echoed under.

"Well done, Angervadil. lie still and dream
Of high achievements,-- meanwhile the gleam
Of rune-fires paling!
And now we'll go home o'er the blue waters sailing."