Classic Poem

Enthroned in his hall sat Sifrid the king:
“Which harper a ballad can blitheliest sing?”
And a youth from the crowd drew hastily nigh,
His harp in his hand, his sword on his thigh.

“Three ballads I know, and the foremost song
Is one that has 'scaped from thy memory long.
My brother thou slewest in murderous wise:
Once more: thou hast slain him in murderous wise!

The second is one that I thought of first
In a wild dark night, as the tempest burst.
With me thou must battle for life and death:
Once more: thou must battle for life and death! ”

The minstrel his harp on the table placed;
Then drew they their swords in furious haste;
Long, long they struggled in desperate brawl,
Till the king lay dead in the lofty hall.

“Now sing I the third, and the sweetest lay,
A song I could sing for a year and a day;
King Sifrid lies here in his heart's best blood:
Once more: here he lies in his heart's best blood! ”