It is autumn now,
The storms of the sea never rest.
 Ah, ah! how gladly I would still be sitting
Far away from the house.

For a long time
I saw the sail blowing away toward the west.
For it may guide 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,
dust now
Cold and pale, the booty of love;
Or she bleeds to death,
A 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.

Even if you were 
To lend me your pinions now, of what help would they be to me?
Only death can bring me
Heavenly pinions!

Hunter so beautiful,
You shall gaze upon the sea from my shoulder!
However yearningly we always look out,
He never returns.

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