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- Translated transcription: By the blackened remains of a ship on the bare, sun-baked beach the mermaids have long awaited Vébjörg’s return. Now they moan, stretching forth their slender arms and wringing their cold hands, calling again and again, but the shield-maiden hears them not. Soon they must die in the warm waves of the south.
The dear friends from her childhood play in the fresh, cold seas under the waving lyme grass of the banks now long and moan in vain.
The sound is like a dying splash of the waves, and like the waves they die and slip back silently into the ocean.
No one but the wind, travelling thence, hears their last sighs, and the ocean’s dumb fish have no sympathy.
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