Thord of Hafsgaard

It was Thord of Hafsgaard o’er the blowing meads did ride,
There he lost his hammer of gold, and sought for it far and wide.

It was Thord of Hafsgaard spake with his brother bold:
“Thou must fare to Norrefjeld, and seek my hammer of gold!”

It was little Loki that donned his feather-fell,
Forth he flew to Norrefjeld, all over the salt sea-swell.

All in the castle-garth his garment changèd he,
Then entered in the stone-built hall, the Giant-King to see.

“Now welcome, little Loki, be thou right welcome here!
How fares the country round Hafsgaard, and the land that lies anear?”

“Well fares the country round Hafsgaard, and the land that lies anear,
But Thord hath lost his hammer of gold, and therefore am I come here.”

“Never shall Thord have his hammer again, altho’ ye seek and strive!
Under the earth ’tis buried deep, full fifty fathom and five!

“Never shall Thord have his hammer again (for ye shall buy it dear),
Till ye bring me your sister Fredensborg, with all your goods and gear!”

It was little Loki that donned his feather-fell,
Forth he flew on the homeward way, all over the salt sea-swell.

All in the castle-garth his garment changèd he,
Then entered in the stone-built hall, his brother dear to see.

“Never shall Thord have his hammer again, altho’ we seek and strive,
Under the earth ’tis buried deep full fifty fathom and five!

“Never shall Thord have his hammer again (for we must buy it dear),
Till we take him our sister Fredensborg, with all our goods and gear!”

The maiden seated on the bench she up and spake to him:
“Oh, give me to a christened man, and not to a goblin grim!”

“Now we will take our father, and comb his locks with care,
And lead him up to Norrefjeld, all for a bride so fair!”

Now true is the tale I tell ye, they took that fair young bride,
They spared no costly plenishing to deck her out with pride.

They seated her, that beauteous bride, upon the bridal-seat;
Forth he came, the Giant-King, full fain the maid to greet.

An ox that lusty bride devoured, and thirty salted swine,
And drank, ere she could slake her thirst, twelve tuns of good red wine!

The Giant-King he paced the floor, and wrathful was his mood:
“Who e’er beheld a beauteous bride fall thus upon her food?”

Up spake little Loki, beneath his cloak smiled he:
“For seven days she ate no meat, so sore she longed for thee!”

Stayed upon a mighty tree by seven champions bold,
Up to the knees of the maiden they bore the hammer of gold.

Up she rose, the bride, and took the hammer in her hand;
Good sooth, I say, she swung it light as a willow wand!

She slew the King o’ the Giants, that Troll so fierce and grim,
And the lesser Trolls that sought the feast, she slew them after him.

It was little Loki that spake a merry jest:
“Our father he is a widow now, to lead him home were best!”