Tyr Olavur Riddararos
Olaf Knightrose
"Where are you going, Olaf
your armour hangs in the attic
You are not going to hunt for deer
you are going to your mistress
White is your shirt, well has it been washed
It will be taken of you in blood"
Olav turned away from his mother
"God grant that it does not go as it has been
foretold"
Young lads, happy lads, step up on the floor
dance merrily
Olaf rides along the mountains
-with coal and smith
He came upon an elven house
Out came an elven maiden
Plaided hair on shoulders lay
"Be welcome Olaf Knightrose
come to the dance and sing for us"
"You need not plaid your hair for me
I have not come to ask for you
I can no longer stay with the elves
for tomorrow I will wed"
"What would you rather, lie ill for seven winters
or be buried tomorrow"
She filled him a drinkinghorn
in it went a grain of poison
Olaf leaned on the saddlebow
-with coal and smith
as he reluctantly kissed the maiden
Young lads, happy lads, step up on the floor
dance merrily
