It is autumn now,
The storms of the sea never rest.
 ... 
 ... 

For a long time
I saw his sail blowing away toward the west.
For it may accompany Frithjof upon
The wide oceans.

Bluish sea,
Rapidly it moves; oh, do not surge any longer!
Ye stars, show the sailor
The paths of the far distance!

When May now comes,
And he returns -- his beloved shall not come along to meet him,
Shall not come toward him in the hall,
Not in the valley either.

She lies in the dust,
Cold and pale, the booty of love;
Or she bleeds to death,
The victim of her brothers.-- 

Falcon who remained behind,
Now you are mine; oh how I love you!
Flying hunter, I shall nourish
And cherish you;

Perched upon his my beloved's hand,
I work you here in the edge of the carpet,
Your pinions are silver to look upon,
Golden your claws.

Freja once took
The pinions of a falcon and, by grief
Driven about through the universe, she sought
Öder, her beloved.

If you were to lend me
Here your pinions, of what help would they be to me?
Only death can bring me
Heavenly pinions!

Falcon so beautiful,
You shall gaze upon the sea from my shoulder!
 ... 

Once I am dead
He shall return then; hear my command:
Greet Frithjof from me!  He shall not
Hold back his tears.