THE COLLECTED POEMS OF HENRIK IBSEN Translated by John ...

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Burns where the rudder races,
So man by man the train shone bright
That trod the monarch’s paces.
Aboard the Scottish craft the sail
On gilded yard was swelling; —
And townsfolk, chatting, homeward trail,
Each one to his own dwelling.
Soon Eric, festive-garbed, appears
Back in the banquet quarter,
But down the firth the vessel steers
That bears the king’s young daughter.
Within the elm-grove all is night, —
The lamps’ red glow, abated.
Where, at the bluff, to left and right
The fjord was separated, —
Two men in secret linger on,
One handsome, full of fire, —
It is Sir Audun Hugleikssøn
And Haldor, his good squire.
Sir Audun from the bluff observed
Far off the ship receding,
While still outlined where Ashland curved
It could be seen proceeding,
But then it altered course to run
Up through the Sound and vanished; —
And then he bowed his head as one
Whose every hope is banished.
How tall he was and strong and proud!
Cheeks brown and freckle-spotted,
His forehead manly deeds avowed
With candid rune-lines plotted;
The brow’s keen stars, they testified
To saga-thoughts most daring; —
So stood he while the little bride
On sea-borne planks went faring.
He summoned Haldor with a word; —
His deep voice seemed to ponder;
“I think of what last year occurred
At Hægranæs, home yonder, —
Returning from the chase one night
We paused a while together;
A raven from the nearby height
Croaked o’er us in the heather.
“Your kin have long possessed the art
Of bird-call divination;