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Now art thou borne from the wedding-banquet,
Circled with fire;
The betrothal ale is spilled in the snow,
Mingled with blood.
Vengeful is Arnljot,
Fiery his love.
“Now is the goal of all my desires,
Now can we turn
Trusting to Olaf, avowing our fealty,
Now can we fare
To whatever spot thou would’st raise thy roof-tree,
Tear-melting bride!
Ours is the world, thy morning-gift
Whate’er thou desirest.
Thou hast but to name it,
Straightway ’tis thine.”
Naught then she named, nothing she answered,
Downcast her gaze….
Then he embraced her more closely, and whispered:
“If ’tis thy will,
Now shall we fly from the world and all others,
Building our home
Afar from the crowd and alone like the eagle,
Perchance by the sea,
Embracing, and learning
The secret of joy.”
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