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Updated: June 7, 2025
Borghild laughed aloud, clapped her hands and threw stones out into the water, while he sat pale and silent, and saw the great white-winged sea-birds sailing through the blue ocean of the sky. "How would you like to live down there in the deep green water?" she asked him one day, as they sat watching the eider-ducks which swam and dived, and stood on their heads among the sea-weeds.
Syvert Come, let us dance in the gladsome day, Borghild Dance hate, and sorrow, and care away; Both An' a heigh ho! The stave was at an end. The hot and flushed dancers straggled over the floor by twos and threes, and the big beer-horns were passed from hand to hand.
The memory of old times came back to her, the memory of the morning long years ago, when they sat together on the strand, and he said; "I think I would rather be your bridegroom, Borghild." The memory was sweet but it was bitter too; and the bitterness rose and filled her heart. She threw her head back proudly, and laughed a strange, hollow laugh. "A bastard's bride, ha, ha!
When this rumor reached the pastor's ear, he pronounced it an idle tale; "for," said he, "Borghild has always been a proper and well-behaved maiden, and she knows that she must honor father and mother, that it may be well with her, and she live long upon the land." But Borghild sat alone in her gable window and looked longingly toward the ocean.
A note by the collector adds "Helgi and Svava are said to have been born again." In Helgi Hundingsbane I., Helgi is the son of Sigmund and Borghild. He fought and slew Hunding, and afterwards met in battle Hunding's sons at Logafell, where the Valkyrie Sigrun, Högni's daughter, protected him, and challenged him to fight Hödbrodd to whom her father had plighted her.
He had a square face, strong features, and a huge crop of towy hair. His race was far-famed for wit and daring. "Tardy is your welcome, Borghild of Skogli," quoth he. "But what a faint heart does not give a bold hand can grasp, and what I am not offered I take unbidden." So saying, he flung his arm about her waist, lifted her from the floor and put her down in the middle of the room.
They were carried to baptism on the same day, and he was called Truls, because they had to call him something; she received the name of Borghild, because that had been the name of every eldest born daughter in the family for thirty generations.
He sprang up as if something had stung him. "And why not?" she pleaded, piteously. "Ah, girl, you know not what you ask," cried he, with a sternness which startled her. "If I had more than one life to waste but you caress with one hand and stab with the other. Fare thee well, Borghild, for here our paths separate." He turned his back upon her and began to descend the slope.
But when she tried to draw her hand away, he caught it quickly, and with a sudden fervor of voice he said: "The sight of you, Borghild, stills the hunger which is raging in my soul. Beware that you do not play with a life, Borghild, even though it be a worthless one." There was something so hopelessly sad in his words, that they stung her to the quick.
"But look here," cried an impatient voice: "aren't we going to have Borghild Bryhn to-night?" "Yes," was the answer; "here she comes." And Solveig's Song followed. It was a pity Borghild Bryhn was not there; I believe the most rapturous applause would not have moved her so much as the way her song was received here that evening.
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