MARGIT.
Der gik ikke lang tid hen,
før jeg måtte så bitterlig græde.
At tænke på dig, min frænde, min ven,
det blev min eneste glæde.
Hvor det tyktes mig tomt i Solhaugs hal
og i alle de store stuer!
Her gæsted os riddere, herrer og fruer;
her sang mig til ære så mangen skald;
men der var ikke én, som ret mig forstod,
ikke én, som fatted min jammer; –
jeg frøs, som sad jeg i bergets kammer;
dog værked mit hoved, dog brændte mit blod.
MARGIT.
The days that passed were but few
Ere with tears my folly I ’gan to rue.
To think, my kinsman and friend, on thee
Was all the comfort left to me.
How empty now seemed Solhoug’s hall,
How hateful and drear its great rooms all!
Hither came many a knight and dame,
Came many a skald to sing my fame.
But never a one who could fathom aright
My spirit and all its yearning--
I shivered, as though in the Hill-King’s might;
Yet my head throbbed, my blood was burning.
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