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How they go hurrying,
How they go scurrying!
Three men on a single pair of ski;
Rushing past village, and mountain, and tree,
Stormy skies and clear,
And the Yule-tide near,
See the vale below them, dotted with its lights!
How they go hurrying,
How they go scurrying!
Iamtlanders follow, a drunken rout,
Unleashing their bloodhounds, to scent them out,
As the bright moonlight
Floods the wintry night —
Black lie the shadows cast by the forest.
How they go hurrying,
How they go scurrying!
Doomed to the altar, a messenger pair,
Cared for and fattened, now free do they fare,
Christian men twain,
Catch them again!
Hungrily howl the ancient wolves of Odin.
How they go hurrying,
How they go scurrying!
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