The Moths halfdans daughter

The heron is flying
Low on the bay
Its wide wings are holding
The clear mountain day
Wing across the water
Oh wondrous bird
And of Halfdan's daughter
Tell me what you've heard
Fading the sunlight
Ripples turn gold
Peacefully waits the night
For day to grow old
Home flies the heron
And news does bring
That Halfdan's daughter
Still wears your ring