13
In Jutland—in Iceland
On Neustria's shore,
Where'er the dark billow
My gallant bark bore,
Songs spoke of thy beauty,
Harps sounded thy praise,
And my heart loved thee long ere
It thrilled in thy gaze;
Ay, Daughter of Einar,
Right tall may'st thou stand,
It is a Vikingir
Who kisses thy hand:
It is a Vikingir
That bends his proud knee,
And swears by Great Freya,
His bride thou must be!
So Jarl Egill swore when his great heart was fullest.
Thy white arms are locked in
Broad bracelets of gold;
Thy girdle-stead's gleaming
With treasures untold:
The circlet that binds up
Thy long yellow hair,
