“Make now for the shore, for the moon is bright, And I would be home ere the end of night.

“Two sons last night had Thyrre the Queen, So fair upriseth the rim of the sun. And both she may lack ere the woods wax green,” So grey is the sea when day is done.

A little before the morning tide, So fair upriseth the rim of the sun, Queen Thyrre looked out of her window-side, So grey is the sea when day is done.

“O men-at-arms, what men be ye?” “Harald thy son come over the sea.”

“Why is thy face so pale, my son?” “It may be red or day is done.”

“O evil words of an evil hour!  Come, sweet son, to thy mother’s bower!”

None from the Queen’s bower went that day
Till dark night over the meadows lay.

None thenceforth heard wail or cry
Till the King’s feast was waxen high.

Then into the hall Lord Harald came
When the great wax lights were all aflame.

“What tidings, son, dost thou bear to me? 
Speak out before I drink with thee.”

“Tidings small for a seafarer. 
Two falcons in the sea-cliffs were;

“And one was white and one was grey,
And they fell to battle on a day;

“They fought in the sun, they fought in the wind,
No boot the white fowl’s wounds to bind.

“They fought in the wind, they fought in the sun, And the white fowl died when the play was done.”

“Small tidings these to bear o’er the sea!  Good hap that nothing worser they be!

“Small tidings for a travelled man!  Drink with me, son, whiles yet ye can!

“Drink with me ere thy day and mine, So fair upriseth the rim of the sun, Be nought but a tale told over the wine.” So grey is the sea when day is done.

Now fareth the King with his men to sleep, So fair upriseth the rim of the sun, And dim the maids from the Queen’s bower creep, So grey is the sea when day is done.

And in the hall is little light,
And there standeth the Queen with cheeks full white.

And soft the feet of women fall
From end to end of the King’s great hall.

These bear the gold-wrought cloths away,
And in other wise the hall array;

Till all is black that hath been gold
So heavy a tale there must be told.

The morrow men looked on King Gorm and said,
“Hath he dreamed a dream or beheld the dead?

“Why is he sad who should be gay? 
Why are the old man’s lips so grey?”

Slow paced the King adown the hall,
Nor looked aside to either wall,

Till in high-seat there he sat him down,
And deadly old men deemed him grown.

“O Queen, what thrall’s hands durst do this,
To strip my hall of mirth and bliss?”

“No thrall’s hands in the hangings were,
No thrall’s hands made the tenters bare.

“King’s daughters’ hands have done the deed,
The hands of Denmark’s Surety-head.”