Hrǫnns fyr Humru mynni
háleit, þars vér beitum;
sveigir lauk, en lægjask
lǫnd fyr Veslu sǫndum.
Eigi drífr í augu
alda lauðri faldin
— drengr ríðr þurr af þingi —
þeim, es nú sitr heima.
Hrǫnns háleit fyr mynni Humru, þars vér beitum; lauk sveigir, en lǫnd lægjask fyr sǫndum Veslu. Alda, faldin lauðri, drífr eigi í augu þeim, es nú sitr heima; drengr ríðr þurr af þingi.
The swell is lofty before Humber’s mouth, where we are tacking; the mast sways, and lands become lower off Vesla’s sands. The wave, capped with foam, is not driving into the eyes of the one who is sitting at home now; the fellow rides dry from the assembly.