Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 2).djvu/137

 Ruthless Norn and wrathful wrecked my life and ravaged, wiled away my welfare, wasted Örnulf's treasure.

Sons had Örnulf seven, by the great gods granted;— lonely now and life-sick goes the greybeard, sonless.

Seven sons so stately, bred among the sword-blades, made a mighty bulwark round the snow-locked sea-king.

Levelled lies the bulwark, dead my sons strong-hearted; gone the greybeard's gladness, desolate his dwelling.

Thorolf,—thou my last-born! 'Mongst the bold the boldest! Soon were spent my sorrow so but thou wert left me!

Fair thou wast as springtide, fond towards thy father, waxing straight and stalwart to so wight a warrior.

Dark and drear his death-wound leaves my life's lone evening; grief hath gripped my bosom as 'twixt hurtling targes.

Nought the Norn denied me of her rueful riches,