From out whose heart folly often glances,
On whose fresh lips basest falsehood dances.
And yet how dear to my heart was she!
And dear as ever she still must be.
My wife I've called her since in the wildwood.
We played together in happy childhood.
Of high achievement if e'er I thought,
Her love alone was the prize I sought;
As stems which grow from one root together,
If Thor strikes one then they both will wither;
If one its vesture of emerald shows,
The other mantles with green its boughs.
Our lives in joy and in grief thus blended,
I cannot think of the union ended.
But I'm alone. O, thou noble Var
Who wanderest over the earth afar,
To record on gold every vow that's spoken,
Forego thy pastime, the vows are broken.
The tablet filled with but falsest lies,
The faithful gold 'gainst the insult cries.
Of Balder's Nanna I've oft been dreaming,
But truth in mortals is only seeming.
In faithfulness can no heart rejoice
Since falsehood borrows my Ingeborg's voice,--
A voice like wind which o'er flower fields strayeth
Or harp-strings' music when Brage playeth.
I'll list no more when the harp is tried,
I will not think of my faithless bride;
Where storms are raging there will I follow,
Till blood thou drinkest, thou ocean billow.