Northland Heroes | Page 9

lay Grove and temple's adorning; Sadly then Frithiof turned away-- Wept in the light of morning.

On the Sea
After the burning of Balder's temple and grove Frithiof was very sad at heart. He felt that the sun-god would never forgive him, although he had not intended any wrong. His home, the lovely Framness, had been destroyed by the king. Ingeborg was kept from him, and the people of his own country shunned him because of his crime against Balder. He felt that he had no home, no country, no friends.
One refuge he had--the swift-flying ship Ellide. From her deck he saw the fires still burning in Balder's grove. Grief filled his heart. "Gone is the temple of the white god. In ashes are the groves once never neglected! And I am to blame; anger and haste made me forget time and place, the reverence due in that holy temple!"
Over the blue sea where wild waves sing, Ellide flew. Frithiof felt at home in the tempest on the rocking ship--this was his Northland, these on board were his only friends. The sea knows no king, and Helge's wrath could not reach him on its waves.
But lo! from a hiding-place in the high rocks King Helge sends out ten dragon ships. The warriors with Frithiof rejoice and laugh at the king, for Bjorn had, unknown to all, leaped into the sea and bored holes in the boat-keels. Down sank the ships and many men were drowned, but Helge escaped.
In wrath the king drew his bow, but it broke. Then Frithiof aimed his lance. "A death bird have I here, false king! but my lance refuses to drink thy coward blood. It is too good for food so craven!"
So speaking Frithiof seized his oars--huge blades of fir, and swiftly moved away.
Where foam-crest swimmeth Ellide skimmeth On joyous wings; But Frithiof sings:
"Thou front of creation, Exalted North! I have no station On thy green earth. Thy lineage sharing My pride doth swell, Thou home of daring! Farewell, farewell!"
And that you also may sing Frithiof's song, the last verse is given with the music.
[Illustration: Frithiof's Song]

The Viking's Code
Over the foaming sea Frithiof sailed, seeking strange lands and adventures. Like a falcon in search of its prey flew the good boat, Ellide, over the waves.
To the champions on board Frithiof gave this law of the viking:--
Make no tent on thy ship, never sleep in a house, for a foe within doors you may view; On his shield sleeps the viking; his sword in his hand, and his tent is the heavenly blue.
When the storm rageth fierce, hoist the sail to the top-- O how merry the storm-king appears; Let her drive! let her drive! better founder than strike, for who strikes is a slave to his fears.
If a merchant sail by, you must shelter his ship, but the weak will not tribute withhold; You are king of the waves, he a slave to his gains; and your steel is as good as his gold.
Let your goods be divided by lot or by dice, how it falls you may never complain; But the sea-king himself takes no part in the lots--he considers the honour his gain.
If a viking-ship come, there is grappling and strife, and the fight 'neath the shields will rejoice; If you yield but a pace you are parted from us; 'tis the law, you may act by your choice.
If you win, be content: he who, praying for peace, yields his sword, is no longer a foe! Prayer's a Valhalla-child, hear the suppliant voice; he's a coward who answereth no.
Wounds are viking's reward, and the pride of the man on whose breast or whose forehead they stand; Let them bleed on unbound till the close of the day, if you wish to be one of our band.

Frithiof's Return
Such was the law of the vikings which Frithiof gave to his men. Day by day his name became more renowned through foreign lands. No viking was brave as Frithiof, and none had braver followers. When the conflict came, his spirit rose like an eagle refreshed for its flight. A smile was on his face and his voice rang clear above the noise of the battle.
After many conquests he sailed to Greece. In her beautiful seas he found many green islands. On the shores were green groves and temples gleaming with pillars. Here it seemed peace must have its home. The murmuring fountains and the sweet songs of the birds made music in the groves.
But in the midst of all this beauty Frithiof thought of his home in the north. There was the friend of his youth, the fair Ingeborg. There were the grave-mounds of his fathers. Around the groves and shrines of his country gathered the memories of his early years, and no matter how lovely any other