It is now autumn,
The sea shows hollows now, driven by the storm.
Upon the shore were I permitted rather 
To listen to the roaring.

There I saw his flag
Being blown through the sea.
Had I thus travelled with him
Through the waves!

Do not swell, oh wave!
Do not swell so dreadfully! It is already going all too quickly!
Follow him, ye golden stars,
Amicably into the distance!

When May breezes blow,
He shall return, but Ingeborg
Shall never step toward him in the hall,
Never in the valley;

For into the grave
Sorrow brought [her,] the beloved;
Ah, for her brothers in grief
Sacrifice the poor girl.

Good wild falcon,
You, who is now in my keeping in his stead!
I shall care for you faithfully,
Hunter of the blue sky.

[Perched] upon [my beloved's] hand,
I shall work you here into the edge of the cloth:
Your pinions are silver to look upon,
Golden your claws.

Freia took
The wings of a falcon and, full of grief, searched
For Oeder in the north and the south
Without growing weary.

Were I dutifully to take
Your wings as well, I yet would not fly!
Ah, only death can bring me
Heavenly pinions.

Hunter full of courage,
Look down into the surging waters from my shoulder!
He, as we wait and weep --
Shall not appear.

See, when I am dead,
And he returns; -- then, as I commanded:
Bring, oh bring my fervent
Greetings to the poor man!