The Lass of the Hebrides

She walked through the heather,
That bonnie Scottish lass;
She didn't mind the weather,
Or how long it would last.

Her hair it was fire,
Her eyes green gems.
Her dress was quite pretty,
Embroidered 'round the hems.

And then we stormed the Hebrides!
And she never more stood at ease.
The fury of the Northmen she despised with her might--
we had brought to her land such great plight.

But she evaded the savage,
She hid from the berserk--
All those who would ravage
Her lovely framework.

And I, son of Thorguld,
When her beauty did espy,
Did not a moment her hold,
But urged her to fly!

For a woman is not an object--
Not a creature so fair!--
For the cruel whims of men to subject,
So I far, far I sent her from there.

Where did she go,
The Hebridean lass?
Did she recall how I helped her so,
How at her I made no pass?

Long dead in the isles,
She lies with her mothers,
And Sven here reviles,
The evil of his brothers.

But I recall, I recall,
A thousand years thence,
Her who stood proud and tall,
Longing each day to make recompense.