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j FRITHIOF’S SAGA
159
On feet of shining silver, with many a gold ring bound,
Rune-written, and with deeds of ancient days bedecked
around.
And as she offered him the horn,all trembling, with averted
head,
The goblet shook, some drops ran o’er, and dyed her
fingers rosy red;
And as upon the lily leaves the sunset glories seem to
stand,
So glowed the drops of purple wine upon the fair one’s
snowy hand.
With joy from her the stranger took the horn, and raised
it high,
Two men (such men as live to-day) could scarce have
drunk it dry,
But the mighty guest, deep-quaffing in honor of the
Queen,
Drained the full goblet at a draught,—no drop remained
within.
Then the bard who sat at the board of royal Ring his harp
drew forth,
And a beautiful sorrowful song did sing of true love in
the North,—
Of Hagbart and fair Signe: and at the mournful tale,
The hard heart melted in each breast beclad in shining mail.
He sang of the halls of Valhalla, the Einherier’s praise
sang he,
Of valiant forbears’ mighty deeds on continent and sea;
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