"Now listen, young Fridleif, the gallant and bold,
Take off from my finger this ring of red gold,
Take off from my finger this ring of red gold,
And part with it not, till in death thou art cold."
Sir Fridleif stood there in a sorrowful plight,
Salt tears wet his eyeballs, and blinded his sight.
"Go home, and I'll come to thy father with speed,
And claim thee from him, on my mighty grey steed."
Sir Fridleif, at night, through the thick forest rode,
He fain would arrive at his lov'd one's abode;
His harness was clanking, his helm glitter'd sheen,
His horse was so swift, and himself was so keen:
He reach'd the proud castle, and jump'd on the ground,
His horse to the branch of a linden he bound;
He shoulder'd his mantle of grey otter skin,
And through the wide door, to Sir Erik went in.
"Here sitt'st thou, Sir Erik, in scarlet array'd;
I've wedded thy daughter, the beautiful maid."
"And who art thou, Rider? what feat hast thou done?
No nidering coward shall e'er be my son.
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