The men of his family
sat in the room here,
they were guests at Hunding's wedding.

He was marrying a woman
who, without being asked,
robbers had made wife.

Sadly I sat
while they drank.
A stranger came in,

an old man in a grey cloak;
his hat was pulled down
so as to cover one eye.

But the glint of the other
made them all afraid,
when the men saw

its autority and sternness.
To me alone
his eye suggested

sweet, longing sadness,
tears and comfort both together.
He looked at me

and glowered at them
while a sword flashed in his hand.
This he thrust

in the tree trunk,
it lodged there right up to the hilt.
The blade would belong to anyone

who pulled it out of the tree.
All the men,
bravely as they tried,

failed to win the weapon.
Visitors came
and visitors went.

The strongest tugged at the hilt,
but it moved not an inch from the tree.
The sword remains silently there.

Then I knew who is was
that had greeted me in my grief:
and I know too

for whom alone
he fixed the sword in the tree.
Oh! could I find him now

and here, that friend,
if he came from far away
to the most miserable of women:

all that I suffered
in bitter sorrow,
all that caused me pain

in my shame and dishonour -
sweetest revenge
would pay for it all!

I would retrieve
what I lost;
what I wept for

would be won back to me;
if I found this sacred friend
my arms would embrace him as a hero.