"Hear thou, May Thure, thou lily bright,
Wilt thou with thy white hand thyself to me plight?"

"Hear thou, Sir Thor, I tell thee plain,
My faith and troth thou may'st obtain.

"My faith and troth I would plight to thee
If I knew thou would'st be true to me."

"May Christ destroy the dastard vile
Who a noble maid would ever beguile!"

She gave him her troth with her hand so fair,
But what she did more there was none aware.

From his hand a gold bracelet he unbound,
And placed it the Damsel's arm around.

"Hear me, May Thure," then said he,
"How long wilt thou tarry a maid for me?"

"I will, Sir Thor, if need there be,
For eighteen winters wait for thee."

"So long a time thou need'st not wait,
No longer a time than winters eight."

When the eight winters they were o'er
The damsel began to grieve so sore.

The damsel began to grieve so sore,
And briny tears from her eyes to pour.

A noble Duke has paid her his suit,
A hero was he, on horse and on foot.

The Duke to her royal father said:
"Wilt give me counsel thy daughter to wed?

"And she I'll hold, till life depart,
As the only lady of my heart."

So rash a man was Sir Sallemand,
To the Duke he promised his daughter's hand.

"I'll give my daughter to thy good hand,
She never shall go into Norroway land.

"Sir Thor shall never behold the day,
That he with her shall Norway sway."

The Damsel Thure pined so sore,
And the tears afresh down her cheeks did pour.

To the castle bridge she wends her way,
And watches the ships in the sound that lay.

Their sails both brown and white she viewed,
And them with her fingers small she sewed.

"I sewed like sails with these fingers of mine,
Perhaps Sir Thor yonder ploughs the brine."

So she lamented in piteous guise,
But no one heard the maiden's cries.

"To his true love each lad comes home,
And why not mine across the foam?

"O would to Christ I had a friend,
That I to the shore a message might send.

"I'd give him presents rich and fair,
If he would in secret my message bear."

Straight then answered the little foot-boy:
"Thy message I'll bear to the strand with joy."

The boy he ran to the yellow sand,
Sir Thor was steering his ship to the land.

Sir Thor was the first who stepped to shore,
To him his message the foot-boy bore.

"How speed the folk on this island, say?
How speeds fair Thure, my plighted may?"

"O well doth she speed through heaven's grace,
To-morrow her bridal wi