“Salute my daughter Ing’borg, the rosebud sweet,
In quiet was she nurtured, as seemed meet: 
Protect her, lest the storm-king, with cruel power,
Should fasten in his helmet my tender flower.

“I lay on thee, king Helge, a father’s care,
Love Ing’borg as a daughter, the jewel rare! 
Restraint galls noble spirits, but gentle manner
Will lead both man and woman to right and honor.

“But lay us now, ye children, in two mound-graves. 
Close where the blue gulf tosses its ceaseless waves;
Our souls shall then forever enjoy the ringing
Of dirges which in breaking the waves are singing.

“When the moon’s pale beams the mountains and valleys fill,
And midnight’s dew is falling on grove and hill;
Then will we sit, O Thorstein, above our pillows,
And talk about the future, across the billows.

“And now, farewell, ye children, our work is done;
Unto the Allfather gladly we hasten on,
Like weary rivers longing for sea’s caressing;
On you be Thor’s and Odin’s and Frey’s rich blessing.”

III

Buried were Bele and Thorstein together, as they had commanded;
High rose their grave-mounds on each side the gulf by the blue rolling water,
Death having sundered the hearts that in life were so closely united. 
Helge and Halfdan, by will of the people, took jointly the kingdom
Left by their father; but Fridthjof, an only son, heired alone Framness,
Took unmolested possession, and settled himself there in quiet.

Stretching around him for twelve miles unbroken his acres extended; Three sides were dale, hill and mountain, the fourth side looked out on the ocean; Crowned were the hill-tops with forests of birch-wood, but, on their sides sloping, Golden corn plentiful grew, and like billows the tall rye was waving.  Many in number the lakes which their mirrors held up for the mountains; Held them up, too, for the woods in whose thickets the high-horned elks wandered, Making there kingly roads, drinking from running brooks counted by hundreds.  But in the valleys wide, on the smooth greensward were quietly grazing Glossy-skinned herds, which with udders distended now long for the milk-pail.  Scattered among them were myriads of white-wooled sheep, constantly moving, Looking like fleecy clouds sailing serenely across the blue heavens, Wafted now hither now thither in crowds by the winds in the spring-time.

Twelve times two coursers, fierce whirlwinds, defiant though fettered, Stood in the rows of stalls, stamping and restless, the meadow-hay chewing, Knotted their long manes with red, and their hoofs were with iron shoes glistening.

Standing apart was the drinking-hall, built of the choicest fir timber;
Counting ten twelves to the hundred, not five hundred warriors assembled
Filled up the spacious apartment, when all met to drink mead at Yule-time. 
Down through the middle, from end to end, ran a strong table of stone-oak,
Polished with wax and like steel shining; carved on two pillars of elm-wood,
Far at one end, Frey and Odin supported the dais of honor,
Odin with lordly look, Frey with the sun for a crest on his bonnet.