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Updated: May 17, 2025
But last night I held thee, Fairest, Lock'd, a wife, in lover's arms. Now, Gudruda, in thy death-rest, Sleep thou soft till Eric come! "Hence I go to wreak thy murder. Hissing fire of flaming stead, Groan of spear-carles, wail of women, Soon shall startle through the night. Then on Mosfell, Kirtle-Wearer, Eric waits the face of Death.
Look where lies her luckless husband, Bolder sea-king ne'er swung sword! Asmund, keep the kirtle-wearer, For last night the Norns were crying, And Groa thought they told of thee: Yea, told of thee and babes unborn. "How knowest thou my name?" asked Asmund. "The sea-mews cried it as the ship sank, thine and others and they shall be heard in story." "Ay," she answered, "fey and fair."
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