Fridthjofs Saga | Page 5

budding charms, a maiden.
Young Fridthjof followed oft the chase,
Which led to many a fearful
place;
With neither spear nor lance defended,
The wild bear's life he
quickly ended.
When, struggling, met they breast to breast,
The hunter won, though
hardly pressed,
And brought the bearskin home; such prizes,
Think

you, a maiden e'er despises?
For woman values courage rare;
The brave alone deserves the fair,

Each one the other's grace completing,
As brow and helmet fitly
meeting.
And when in winter evenings long,
By firelight reading, in a song,

Of fair abodes in radiant heaven
To every god and goddess given,
He thought: "Of gold is Ing'borg's hair,
A net for rose and lily fair:

Like Freyja's bounteous golden tresses,
A wheat-field which the
breeze caresses.
Fair Idun's beauteous bosom beats
Beneath the green silk's safe
retreats,--
I know a silk whose sheen encloses
Light; fairies two,
with buds of roses.
And Frigg's mild eyes are blue and clear
As heaven, when no clouds
appear,--
But I know eyes beside whose sparkles
A light, blue
spring day quickly darkles.
And Gerd's fair cheeks, why praise them so?
The northern-lights, on
new fall'n snow,--
I know of cheeks whose rosy warnings
Portray at
once two ruddy mornings.
I know a heart affection-crowned
Like Nanna's, though not so
renowned
And Nanna's love, in song and story,
is justly reckoned
Balder's glory.
For oh, what joy when death appears,
To have a faithful maiden's
tears!
To prove a love so strong and tender,
With Hel's grim shades
I'd gladly wander."
Meanwhile the princess gayly wove
In cloth, blue wave and greenest

grove;
And as she sang a hero's story,
She also wove a hero's glory.
For soon there grew in snow-white wool
Bright shields from off the
golden spool,
Here, red prevail the battle lances,
There,
silver-stiffened armor glances.
Anon her fingers deftly trace
A hero,--see, 'tis Fridthjof's face;
And
though at first almost affrighted,
She blushes, smiles and is delighted.
The birch tree's stem where Fridthjof went
Showed I and F in beauty
blent;
As grew those runes in one, delighted,
So too those hearts in
one united.
When Day invests the upper air,
The world-king with the golden hair,

When men to action urge each other,
They think alone of one
another.
When Night pervades the upper air,
The world-queen with the raven
hair,
When stars in silence greet each other,
They dream alone of
one another.
"Thou Earth, who in the spring-time fair,
Bedeck'st with flowers thine
emerald hair,
Give me the best; in wreaths I'll wind them,
And
round my Fridthjof's brow will bind them."
"Thou sea, who mak'st thy dark caves bright
With myriad pearls'
refulgent light,
Give me the best; I'll weave the clearest
A necklace
for my Ing'borg dearest."
"Thou ornament of Odin's throne,
Eye of the world, O golden sun,

Wert thou but mine, thy blazing splendor
I'd give a shield to my
defender."
"Thou guide in Odin's house at night,
Thou pale moon with thy
lovely light,
Were thou but mine, thy pearly lustre
'Mid Ing'borg's
golden hair should cluster."

But Hilding said: "My foster-son,
Your reason is by love outrun;

The norns are partial in bestowing
The blood that in her veins is
flowing.
To Odin high, where bright stars shine,
Ascendeth her ancestral line;

No hope may son of Thorstein nourish,
For like with like alone can
flourish."
But Fridthjof smiled: "My race," he said,
"Goes down unto the valiant
dead;
The forest-king I slew, and merit
Thereby, the honor kings
inherit.
"The free-born man will never yield,
He owns the world's
unconquered field;
For fate can bind what she has broken,
And
hope is crowned with kingly token.
"All power is noble; Thor presides
In Thrudvang, where all strength
abides;
There worth, and not descent, is leader,--
The sword is e'er a
valiant pleader.
"I'd fight the world for my sweet bride,
Yea, though the thunder-god
defied.
Be glad and brave, my lily, never
Shah mortal dare our lives
to sever."
II.
King Bele And Thorstein.
King Bele, sword-supported, in the palace stood;
And with him
Thorstein, Viking's son, the peasant good.
His ancient war companion,
grown old in glory,
His brow was scarred like rune-stones, his hair
was hoary.
They stood, as on the mountain two temples stand
To honored gods
devoted, now half in sand;
And many words of wisdom the walls are
saying,
And holy recollections through domes are straying.

"The evening steals upon me," king Bele said,
"The helmet now is
heavy, and stale the mead;
The fate of man grows darker, but all the
clearer
High Valhal shines before me, as death draws nearer.
"My sons I here have summoned, and Thorstein's son
For they should
cling together, as we have done;
But I would give the eaglets some
words of warning--
Words may in death be sleeping ere dawns the
morning."
Obedient to the mandate, the three advance--
First, Helge, dark and
gloomy, with sullen glance;
He dwelt amid diviners; the hand he
proffered
Was red with blood of victims, on altars offered.
The next who came was Halfdan, a light-haired swain:
His
countenance was noble, but weak and vain;
He gaily bore a falchion,
with which he gestured,
And seemed a youthful maiden, in armor
vestured.
And after them came Fridthjof, in mantle blue;
He was stronger than
the others, and taller,