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Thy foot treads this chamber,
As bark rides the sea:
This likes me—this likes me,
Stout maiden of mould,
Thou wooest to purpose;
Bold hearts love the bold.
So shouted Jarl Egill, and clutched the proud maiden.
Away and away then,
I have thy small hand;
Joy with me—our tall bark
Now bears toward the strand;
I call it the Raven,
The wing of black night,
That shadows forth ruin
O'er islands of light:
Once more on its long deck,
Behind us the gale,
Thou shalt see how before it
Great kingdoms do quail;
Thou shalt see then how truly,
My noble-souled maid,
The ransom of kings can
Be won by this blade.
So bravely Jarl Egill did soothe the pale trembler.
