For Eleanor, from Menken

To his Freya went a humble knight,

Wounded sore from honour’ble fight,

In his hand her favour fierce he clasped.

Eleanor, my wife, my bride, my life, I am here;

Naught can keep me from you! I am returned!

Her face agleam with boreal light,

Her fingers, long, held his face tight,

Her husband smiled as he rasped.

Eleanor, my wife, my bride, my life, I am here;

Naught can keep me from you! I am returned!

She guides him home, her blue eyes bright,

To bind his wounds and treat him dear,

She the only thing in his mind’s sight.

Eleanor, my wife, my bride, my life, I am here;

Naught can keep me from you!

By THLaird Colyne Stewart, April AS 48, as a ransom paid to Sir Menken Brechen. Based on the 10^th century anonymous alba, phebi claro nondum orto iubare.