Still to sink the sailor dashes
Implacable each angry wave;
Gray, as if bestrewn with ashes,
Yawns the endless, awful grave.
Then says Fridthjof:
For us in bed of ocean
Azure pillows Ran prepares,
On thy pillow, Ingeborg,
Thou thinkest upon me.
Higher ply, my comrades,
Ellida's sturdy oars;
Good ship, heaven-fashioned,
Bear us on an hour.
The storm continues:
O'er the side apace
Now a sea hath leapt;
In an instant's space
Clear the deck is swept.
From his arm now Fridthjof hastens
To draw his ring, three marks in weight;
Like the morning sun it glistens,
The golden gift of Bele great.
With his sword in pieces cutting
The famous work of pigmied art,
Shares he quickly, none forgetting,
Unto every man a part.
Then says Fridthjof again:
Gold is good possession
When one goes a-wooing;
Let none go empty-handed
Down to azure Ran.
Icy are her kisses,
Fickle her embraces;
But we'll charm the sea-bride
With our ruddy gold.
