Across the stretching reed-beds The dusk and twilight flee, And thick the sea-fog covers The roaring Northern Sea.
O Hakon, grey-eyed Hakon With tawny yellow hair, Why are you standing all alone? Why are you waiting there?
Across the stretching reed-beds, Amid the falling light, Comes tripping fair maid Mettelil Among the bents to-night.
‘O Mettelil, you have tarried, The dark is drawing on, Were you with young Herr Axel This long long hour that’s gone?
I watched him by the reed-beds, I saw him pause and wait, Till twilight came I looked for you-- O Mettelil, it is late!
Goodbye, goodbye, Maid Mettelil, The raven cries o’erhead, A stormy wind rolls in from sea, Mettelil, my heart is dead!’
Across the roaring ocean The plunging war-ships go, And Hakon, armed to battle, Sails out to meet the foe.
Where’er the press is thickest, Upon the prow he stands; Around him fly the arrows Shot by the foeman’s hands.
The air is wild with shrieking Of those that fight and drown. The blows fall thick round Hakon But none can strike him down.
‘O Death that I am seeking, Why com’st thou not to me? I would my heart lay cold and still Beneath the rolling sea!’
At home sits fair Maid Mettelil, The tears are in her eyes, And, ere a month is come and gone, In kirkyard ground she lies.
And sadly home comes Hakon, Weary his face has grown, All through the night he wanders Beside the kirkyard lone.
‘Mettelil, the leaves are falling, The north wind whistles free, The chill mist wraps me in its shroud, Come back, come back to me!’
Between the glimmering headstones, Beneath the branches black, A form comes quickly gliding And stands at Hakon’s back.
‘Turn round, turn round now, Hakon, And hold me to your breast And touch my cold lips once with yours, For then my soul can rest.’
She wound her white arms round him, She touched his tawny hair, ‘O Hakon, hold me faster, My grave is opening there!’
He held her close and closer, Lower he bent his head-- An icy wind swept o’er his heart, One kiss, and he was dead.
❦