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j FRITHIOF’S SAGA 217
"Tidings to those shield-maids by me
There must be told,
Where they, around Time’s lofty tree,
Their dwelling hold.
" Still Balder, golden-haired, doth frown
In anger sore;
He took my bride, and he alone
Can her restore."
Then with a kiss saluted he
The new King’s brow,
And slowly o’er the heath they see
Him silent go.
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