Gudmund.
Only to be
Ta'en by Knut Gesling, with bow and spear,
Swung on the croup of his battle-horse,
And made his wife by force.
Signë.
Quick, let us flee. But whither go?
Gudmund.
Down by the fiord a friend I know;
He'll find us a ship. O'er the salt sea foam
We'll sail away south to Denmark's bowers.
There waits you there a happy home;
Right joyously will fleet the hours;
The fairest of flowers they bloom in the shade
Of the beech-tree glade.
Signë.
[Bursts into tears.]
Farewell, my poor sister! Like mother tender
Thou hast guarded the ways my feet have trod,
Hast guided my footsteps, aye praying to God,
The Almighty, to be my defender.—
Gudmund—here is a goblet filled with mead;
Let us drink to her; let us wish that ere long
Her soul may again be calm and strong,
And that God may be good to her need.
[She takes the goblet into her hands.
