Chapter III: Part 3

A coward's blood; It is too good For food so craven; Its worth be graven On funeral stone, But not upon A name which beareth The stain thine weareth. One exploit brave Sank 'neath the wave; The next one failed thee, Nor aught availed thee; Thy bow rust broke, Not thou. The stroke, When I aspire, Is set much higher, As thou mayst see 'Tis far from thee."

His carved oar limber Was fir-tree timber,-- A mast-fir tall, From Gudbrand's dale. Taking another, With both together He rowed amain; Like arrowy cane Or steel blade brilliant Were the oars resilient. The sun climbs up The mountain slope, The winds, advancing From land, to dancing In morning's light The waves invite. Where foam-crest swimmeth Ellide skimmeth On joyous wings; But Fridthjof 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! Farewall, farewell!

Farewell thou royal Valhalla-throne! Thou night's-eye loyal, Midsummer sun! Thou sky unclouded As hero's soul! Thou vault star-crowded! Farewell, farewell!

Ye mountain ranges Where honor dwells, Creation's changes Your rune-face tells. Ye lakes and highlands I knew so well, Ye rocks and islands, Farewell, farewell!

Farewell ye grave-mounds Where the linden showers Near azure wave bounds The dust of flowers! But time revealeth And judgeth well What earth concealeth; Farewell, farewell!

Farewell ye bowers, Beneath whose shade So many hours By brooks I've played; Ye friends of childhood Ye meant me well, I love your wildwood; Farewell, farewell!

My love is cheated, My home is burned, My shame completed, I'm exiled, spurned. From land appealing To ocean's swell, Life's joyous feeling, Farewell, farewell!

XV.

The VIKING CODE.

Now he floated around on the desolate sea, like a prey-seeking falcon he rode, To the champions on board he gave justice and law; wilt thou hear now the sea-viking's code?

"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.

See how short is the shaft of the hammer of Thor, but an ell's length the sword blade of Frey; 'Tis enough, for your weapon will ne'er be too short if you dare near the enemy stay.

"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.

"Never take on thy vessel the land-sheltered maid; were she Freyja herself she'd ensnare; For the dimples she wears are but pitfalls for men, and a net is her free flowing hair.

"Wine is Allfather's drink, and the cup is allowed if you only can use it with sense; He who falls on the land may arise,--who falls here he to Ran, the sleep-giving, goes hence.

"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 he 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 honor 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."

Thus his law was enrolled,--and his name, every day, through all foreign coasts grew renowned; For his like was not seen on the blue-rolling sea, nor the valor his champions crowned.

Then he sat by the rudder and sullenly gazed in the depths of the blue rocking tide; "Thou art deep; in thy depths thriveth peace, it may be, but it thriveth not here where we ride.

"Is the White God enraged? Let him take up his sword, I will fall if it thus is designed; But he sits in the skies, and the thoughts he sends down which forever are clouding my mind."

When the conflict came on, then his spirit arose like an eagle refreshed for its flight; And his brow it was clear, and his voice it rang high,-- like the thunderer first in the fight.

So from conquest to conquest unbroken he went, and was safe o'er the high, foaming grave;

And he saw in the south many islands and rocks, till he came to the calm Grecian wave.

When he saw the green groves that stand out from the waves, and the temple before him uprose, What he thought Freyja knows, and the poet knows too, and the lover, he knows, ah! he knows!

"Here we ought to have dwelt, here's the island and grove, here the fane as my father set forth. It was here, it was here I invited my love, but the cruel one staid in the North.

"Surely peace has its home in those blissful green dales,-- in the colonnades, memory's words; Like the whisper of love are the murmuring founts, and a bride-song the voice of the birds.

"Where is Ingeborg now? Hath forgotten me quite for the gray-haired and withered old king? I can never forget, but my life I would give, if one sight of my love it would bring.

"Now three years have passed by since the land I beheld where heroic achievement prevails; Tower the honored mounts yet to the heavenly blue? is it green in my forefathers' dales?

"On the grave where my father is laid I once planted a tree; can it be it lives now? And who cares for the weakling? Thou earth give it moisture, and dew, kindly heaven, give thou.

"But why linger I longer on far distant waves, taking tribute and striking men down? For my soul but despises the glittering gold, and I've gained quite enough of renown.

"There's a flag on the mast and it points to the North, in the North is the land I hold dear; I will follow the course of the heavenly winds, and back to the Northland I'll steer."

XVI.

FRIDTHJOF AND BJORN.

Bjorn, I am weary of riding the sea, Turbulent traps are the billowy fountains; Northland's firm earth and her long cherished mountains, Wondrous attractions, are calling to me. Happy is he by his land unrejected, No one denies him his father's green grave; Too long, alas, have I wandered dejected, Outlawed, afloat on this wilderness wave.

BJORN.

Good is the sea, your complaining you squander, Freedom and joy on the sea flourish best; He never knoweth effeminate rest, Who on the billows delighteth to wander. When I am old, to the green growing land I too will cling, with the grass for my pillow; Now I will drink and will fight with free hand, Now I'll enjoy my own sorrow-free billow.

FRIDTHJOF.

Now hath the ice indeed chased us to land, Close round our keel are the stiffened waves dozing; Let me not waste the long winter reposing Here among rocks on this desolate strand. Let me once more keep the Yule banquet olden, Guest of king Ring and the bride of my choice; Let me once more see those waving locks golden, Hear the sweet tones of that well-beloved voice.

BJORN.

Good! to king Ring it shall be my glad duty, Something to teach of a wronged viking's power; Fire we the palace at midnight's still hour, Scorch the old graybeard and bear off the beauty. Or, being viking you may think it right Honor to grant the old man by a duel: Challenge him out on the ice for a fight,-- Whatever you will, only waiting is cruel.

FRIDTHJOF.

Speak not of firebrands, to war give no thought,-- Peace would I bear to the king, and not terror; Ring nor his partner committed the error-- Heavenly vengeance my punishment sought, Little of hope is now left worth the telling, Only farewell would I take of my dear,-- Final farewell. When the green buds are swelling, Sooner it may be, you'll see Fridthjof here.

BJORN.

Fridthjof, 'tis time for your folly's abating; Sigh and lament for a false woman's loss! Earth is, alas, but too full of such dross; One may be lost, still a thousand are waiting. Say but the word, of such goods I will bring Quickly a cargo,-- the Southland can spare them, Red as the rose, mild as lambs in the Spring; Then we'll cast lots, or as brothers we'll share them.

FRIDTHJOF.

Bjorn, you're as frank and as joyous as Frey, Bold to wage war and with wisdom advising; Odin and Thor you ne'er think of despising,-- Freyja, the heavenly, you dare to gainsay. Let us not question her power supernal, Rather beware lest we waken her ire; Once, though now slumbering, the sparkle eternal Mortals and gods shall enkindle to fire.

BJORN.

Go not alone, lest return be prevented.

FRIDTHJOF.

Singly I go not, my sword goes with me.

BJORN.

Hagbert, remember, was hanged to a tree.

FRIDTHJOF.

Who can be taken, to hang has consented.

BJORN.

Fallest thou then, on thy murderer fell Carve I the blood-eagle, vengeance bestowing.

FRIDTHJOF.

Needless, fond Bjorn, he'll not hear the cock crowing Longer than I do. Farewell, fare thee well.

XVII.

FRIDTHJOF COMES TO KING RING.

King Ring in state was seated at Yule-time drinking mead. And with him sat his consort, so white and rosy red; They seemed like Spring and Autumn. when both together seen,-- The king was chilly Autumn, fresh Spring the fair young queen.

A man, unknown, there entered within the spacious hall, From head to foot enveloped, a bear-skin covering all; And though by staff supported, and bent with age and care, He stood a head the taller than any champion there.

He chose for seat to rest him a bench beside the door,-- 'Tis now the poor man's station, as 'twas in days of yore; The courtiers all laughed loudly, with many a gibe and jest, And with the finger pointed to him in bear-skin dressed.

The stranger's eyes flashed lightning which made his anger felt, And quick a young man seizing with one hand, by the belt, Both up and down he turned him; then ceased the gleeful din, For all the rest were silent,--so you and I had been.

"What causes such an uproar? who dares disturb our peace? Old man, come here and answer, and let the tumult cease; Your name, your place, your errand; come, answer if you can." Thus spake the angered monarch to the half-concealed old man.

"You ask me many questions, I'll answer every one: My name (I will not give it) belongs to me alone; My birthplace was misfortune, my heritage is want,-- I hither came but lately from wolf so fierce and gaunt.

"In youth I rode a dragon upon the waters blue, Its wings were stout, and gayly and safely too it flew; But crippled now and frozen, it leaves the land no more, And I, grown old and weary, burn salt upon the shore.

"I came to see thy wisdom, renowned so far and wide; And when they met me rudely (for scorn I'll not abide), One idiot by the girdle I grasped, and turned him round, For that I beg your pardon,--though now he's safe and sound."

"Thy words are wisely chosen," said Ring, "I must agree; The aged should be honored, come sit thee here by me; Slip off these false disguises and let thy form appear,-- Disguise is foe to pleasure, and pleasure ruleth here."

The guest now loosed the bearskin,--it fell from off his head, Where stood old age decrepit, each saw a youth instead,-- From off whose noble forehead, and round whose shoulders brave, The light locks fell and floated in many a golden wave.

In azure velvet mantle, he then stood forth erect, His belt a silver girdle with forest beasts bedecked,-- Embossed by cunning workman, each figure deftly traced, And round and round the hero they each the other chased.

A massive golden circlet his sinewy arm displayed; His battle-sword hung by him as though the lightning stayed; A hero glance about him he cast from time to time, And stood as Balder beauteous, as Asa-Thor sublime.

Surprised, the queen's cheeks quickly with changing color glow, As northern lights so ruddy paint fields of driven snow; As two twin water lilies, alarmed by tempest's swell, Stand swinging on the billow, her bosom rose and fell.

The horn a shrill blast sounded, then silence reigned throughout; The hour for vows was coming, and Frey's boar now they brought; His mouth contained an apple, wreaths on his neck were laid, His four knees bent beneath him upon a silver cade.

King Ring, his gray locks flowing, arose and straight-way now The boar's head gently touching, he thus declared his vow: "I swear to conquer Fridthjof, the champion in war, So help me Frey and Odin, and. likewise mighty Thor."

Then with a smile defiant uprose the stranger tall, A look of wrath heroic spread o'er his features all,-- He smote with sword the table till through the hall it rang; And up from oaken benches the steel-clad warriors sprang.

"And now, sir king, please listen while I my vow shall tell,-- Young Fridthjof is my kinsman, and so I know him well; 'Gainst all the world I'll shield him, I give you here my word, So help me now my norn, and likewise my good sword."

The king then laughed. "Right daring, methinks, your speech," said he, "But in this Northland palace shall all fair words be free; My queen, fill him a bumper of wine, the very best,-- I hope that through the winter he'll here remain our guest."

The queen then took the goblet, before her it was placed,-- A rare and costly jewel, which once the ure's head graced; It stood on feet of silver, and on its golden bands Were runes of high achievement, engraved by skillful hands.

With downcast eyes she reached him the goblet, brimming filled,-- But with a hand so trembling that wine thereon was spilled: As evening's shades so ruddy upon the lilies glow, So gleamed the drops of ruby on hand as white as snow.

The guest the horn accepted with reverential bow,-- Not two men could have drained it, as men are reckoned now,-- Without an instant's waiting the strong man, at a draught, The lovely queen to honor, the brimming ruby quaffed.

The skald at table seated, his waiting harp brought forth, And sang a heartfelt story of true love in the North,-- Of Hagbert and of Signe; and at the deep tones' peal Each warrior's heart was melted, though clad his breast in steel.

He sang of Valhal's mansions, of heroes' blest reward, Of ancient deeds of valor, on fields of wave and sward; Then grasped each hand its sword-hilt, then flashed each eye intent,-- And quickly round the table the foaming mead-horn went.

And lively was the drinking within that royal hall,-- An honest Yule carousal engaged the champions all; The sleep that followed after no care or anger stained; But Ring, the aged monarch, with Ingeborg remained.

XVIII.

THE RIDE ON THE ICE.

King Ring to a banquet his queen would take, The ice like a mirror o'erspread the lake.

"Go not on the ice," said the stranger bold, "It may break, and the bath is too deep and cold."

"The king," answered Ring, "is not easily drowned, Whoever is fearful let him go round."

The stranger was angered and sullen frowned,-- Then quickly his skates to his feet he bound.

The sledge-horse sets out, he is strong and free,-- His nostrils are flaming, so glad is he.

"Strike out," cried the monarch, "my charger good, And show if you are of the Sleipner blood."

As swift as a storm on the sea his speed; The prayers of the queen does the king not heed.

The stranger in mail on his skates is not still, But passes them swiftly whenever he will.

He writes many runes on the ice besides,-- And over her name lovely Ingeborg rides.

They swiftly speed onward, the lake to span, But under them lurketh the treacherous Ran.

Her silvery roof in a trice she breaks, And catches the sled in the hole she makes.

The cheeks of the beautiful queen turn pale; Then comes like a whirlwind the skater in mail.

He buries his skate in the ice, to clasp The steed's flowing mane in his iron grasp.

With one single effort his arm the swings, And charger and sled to the firm ice brings.

"That stroke," said Ring, "was a noble one,-- Not Fridthjof, the strong, could have better done."

So they all returned to the house of the king,-- The stranger remaining until the spring.

XIX.

FRIDTHJOF'S TEMPTATION.

Spring is coming, song-birds twitter, woods are leafing, smiles the sun; Dancing downward, toward the ocean, see the loosened rivers run; Glowing like the cheeks of Freyja, from the buds the roses ope,-- Hearts of men to life awaken, full of courage, love and hope.

Ho! the chase! the aged monarch with his queen will go to-day; Now in crowds the court assembles, waiting in confused array,-- Bows are clanging, quivers rattling, steeds impatient paw the ground; Hooded falcons, wildly shrieking, make the echoing hills resound.

See! the queen appears! Poor Fridthjof, do not thither cast your eye; Sits she on her milk-white palfrey like a star in spring's clear sky,-- Half a Freyja, half a Rota,--lovelier far than either one,-- From her dainty hat of purple, plumes are waving in the sun.

Look not on those eyes so heavenly,--of those golden locks beware!

Oh! take care! that form is supple, full that bosom, oh! take care! Look not where the rose and lily shifting hues alternate fling; Listen not to those loved accents, sighing like the winds of spring.

Now the hunting troop is ready. Hark, through hills and valleys all Sounds the horn, the falcon loosened straight ascends to Odin's hall; Forest denizens in terror haste to seek their cavern-homes; But, with spear outstretched before her, each valkyrie swiftly comes.

Aged Ring no longer follows where the eager hunter flies; By his side alone rides Fridthjof, silent, grave, with downcast eyes. Darkest thoughts, and full of anguish, stir within his sorrowing breast, And wherever he may wander, haunting voices banish rest.

"Oh, the sea! why did I leave it? thus to my own peril blind! Sorrow thrives not on the billow, scattered 'tis by every wind. Broods the viking? danger cometh bidding him the lance prepare; Vanish then all sad reflections, blinded by the weapon's glare.

"Here, a longing, past describing, flaps its wings about my brow, And like one asleep and dreaming, to and fro I wander now; Balder's precincts I remember, nor forget the oath she gave. 'Twas the gods, not she, who broke it,--gods relentless as the grave.

"For they hate the race of mortals, on their joy with anger look, So to deck cold winter's bosom, they my tender rose-bud took; What does Winter with my blossom? Can he understand its worth? Nay, but bud and stem and leaflet, clothes in ice with frosty breath."

Thus bewailed he. Soon they came into a dark and lonesome dell, Gloomy, crowded 'twixt two mountains; o'er it densest shadows fell. Then the monarch halted, saying: "See how lovely, fresh and deep! I am weary and would rest me, fain would have a moment's sleep." "Sleep not here, for hard and chilly is the ground, O king, indeed: Up, thy sleep will not refresh thee, let me back the monarch lead."

"Like the other gods, sleep cometh unexpected. Does my guest," Said the king with feeble accents, "grudge his host a moment's rest?" Fridthjof then took off his mantle, and outspread it 'neath a tree; And the king, in trusting friendship, laid his head on Fridthjof's knee; Soon he slept as sleeps the hero after battle's rude alarms, On his shield, or as an infant cradled in his mother's arms.

As he slumbers, hark! there singeth from a branch a coal-black bird; "Hasten, Fridthjof, slay the gray-beard, free your mind by discord stirred; Take the queen, she's thine by promise; thee the bridal kiss she gave, Human eyes do not behold thee; deep and silent is the grave."

Fridthjof listens; hark! there singeth from a branch a snow-white bird: "Though no human eye behold thee, Odin sees and hears each word; Coward, wilt thou murder slumber? Slay an old defenceless man? Win what else, the crown of heroes is not won by such a plan."

So sang both the birds, but Fridthjof, snatching up his battle-blade, Flung it from him with a shudder, far into the gloomy glade. Black-bird flew away to Nastrand, airily the other one, Singing, sweetly as a harp-tone, straightway mounted toward the sun.

Suddenly the old man wakens. "Much that sleep was worth to me; Guarded by a brave man's weapon, sleep is sweet beneath a tree.

Yet I do not see your weapon; where has fled the lightning's twin? What has parted you who never in your lives have parted been?"

"Little matters it," said Fridthjof, "'tis not hard to find a sword; Sharp its tongue, O king. and never speaks for peace a single word; Haunted 'tis by evil spirit, black, from Niflheim it roams, Sleep is here in danger from it, seeking silver locks it comes."

"I, O youth, have not been sleeping, but to prove you have I tried; Man or sword a wise man testeth, ere in them he will confide. You are Fridthjof; since you entered first my hall I've known you well; Ring, though old, at once detected what his guest would fain conceal.

"Wherefore, thus into my dwelling, crept you nameless, in disguise? Wherefore, but to cheat and rob me, and my bride bear off a prize? Honor, Fridthjof, sits not nameless, hospitality's rude guest; Bright its shield as sun at noonday, on its face all eyes may rest.

"Fame had told us of a Fridthjof, whom both men and gods revere; Shields he cleft and temples wasted, bold and brave, without a fear. Soon with war-shield, so I reasoned, he will come against my land; And he came, but clad in tatters, beggar's staff within his hand.

"Wherefore now cast down your eyelids? Once, like you, I too was young; From the first is life a struggle, and fresh youth its _Berserk-gang_. Hardly pressed and tried it must be, that its onset triumph not; I have proved you and forgiven. I have pitied and forgot.

"Now am I grown old and weary, in the grave shall rest me soon, Therefore take O youth, my kingdom, take my queen, she is thine own; Be my son, till then remaining still my guest as heretofore. Swordless champion shall protect me and our feud exist no more."

"As a thief," said Fridthjof sadly, "came I not, O king, to thee; Had I wished thy queen to capture, tell me, who had hindered me? But my bride, though lost forever, wished I to behold once more; Fool was I! anew I kindled flames which were half quenched before.

"In thy halls too long I've tarried; here I must no longer stay. Gods unreconciled their anger rest upon me day by day; Balder, with the light locks flowing, loveth all mankind but one; Only I am now rejected; see, he hateth me alone}!

"Yes, l set on fire his temple. Fane-profaner call they me. Children shriek when I am mentioned, joy and gladness from me flee; Northland casteth out the lost one, and in anger cries--depart! In my native land I'm outlawed, I am outlawed in my heart.

"I will seek for peace no longer on the earth, so green and sweet, Trees no more their shade aford me, burns the ground beneath my feet. Ingeborg I've lost forever; she, my bride, accepted Ring, From my life the Sun has vanished, night and noonday darkness bring.

"Therefore hence to ocean's billow! Out, away my dragon good, Bathe again thy pitch-black bosom in the briny boiling flood; Wave in clouds thine inky pinions, let the sea a path prepare, Fly as far as star can guide us, far as conquered billows bear.

"Let me hear the rolling thunder, let me hear the lightning's voice; When it thunders all around me, Fridthjof's heart will then rejoice;

Clang of shields and rain of arrows! Let the sea the battle fill; Purified, I'll then fall gladly, reconciled to heaven's will."

XX.

KING RING'S DEATH.

Golden mane flowing, Skinfaxe duteous Draweth the spring sun more bright than before; Morning beams glowing Doubly as beauteous, Sport in the hall;--there's a knock at the door.

Though his heart grieveth, Enters the stranger; Pale sits the king, while the queen's gentle breast Billow-like heaveth; Singeth the ranger A song of departure, with sorrow oppressed.

"Bathes now the billow Winged steed flying, Sea-horse is longing to flee from the strand; Glad will he follow Him who is hieing Far from his home and his well beloved land.

"The arm-ring I give thee, Ing'borg, receive it. Holiest memories with it remain. Ne'er let it leave thee: Fridthjof, believe me Truly forgives. Thou'lt not see him again.

"No more beholding The smoke's upward motion Northland I'll see. Truly man is a slave; Fate is unyielding; Far on the ocean There is my fatherland, there is my grave.

"When in your roaming Stars the vault cover, Go not with Ingeborg down to the strand; Lest in the gloaming You should discover Fridthjof, the outlawed, cast up on the sand."

"Sad is the hearing," Ring said, replying, "When a man moans like a weak maiden's sigh. Valhal is nearing, E'en now the sighing Death song I hear. Every mortal must die.

"No one can frighten, Or by complaining Change the allotment the norns have set down; Sorrow thou'lt lighten O'er the land reigning,-- Take thou my queen, for my son guard the crown.

"True is it spoken, Loved and respected Peaceful I've reigned, over mountain and vale; Yet have I broken Shields, unprotected, Landward and seaward, without turning pale.

"Now shall the bleeding Geirs-odd relieve me,-- Dying in bed ill befits Northland's kings; Not worth my heeding, Death shall receive me,-- Life's pain is equal to that which death brings."

Then carved he rightly Letters all glowing,-- Death runes to Odin on arm and on chest; Shine now so brightly Blood-drops o'erflowing, Dyeing the silvery hair on his breast.

"Bring for my drinking The horn with wine flowing; Skoal to thy honor, thou land of my birth! Minds deeply thinking, Harvest fields growing,-- Peaceful exploits have I loved on the earth.

"Vain amid slaughter Bloody and daring, Sought I for peace,--she fled in dismay. Now the mild daughter Of heaven appearing, Beckons me hence to Valhal away.

"Hail ye immortals! Sons of high heaven! Earth disappears; Gjallarhorn to a feast Opens the portals; By the gods given, Blessedness crowns as a helmet the guest!"

Speaking intently, Ing'borg's hand loyal, Also his son's, and his friend's, too, he pressed; Eyelids close gently,-- Spirit so royal Flies with a sigh to the Allfather's breast.

XXI.

RING'S DRAPA.

Sepultured sits he, Sovereign descended, Battle sword by him, Buckler on arm; Chafes his good charger Champing impatient, Pawing with gold-hoof The gate of the grave.

Ring, great in riches, Rideth o'er Bifrost; Bends with its burden, Bridge of the gods. Wide for his welcome Valhal it opens, Hands to the hero Heaven extends.

Absent is Asa-Thor, Active in warfare. Beckoned by Odin The beaker is brought; Frey the king graces With garlands of grain-ears, Blossoms the bluest Binds Frigg therein.

Graspeth the gold-string, Gray-bearded Brage, Stiller now sigheth The song than before; Freyja the faithful, Fondly reclining. Bends o'er the board and Burneth to hear.

"Sing high the smiting Of sword upon helmet, Boisterous billows, Bloody for aye; Power, the gift of Gods ever gracious, Bitter as berserk Biting the shield.

"Hence was the hero-king, Heaven-born dear to us, Showing his shield A shelter for peace. Power's embodiment Plainly impersonate, Soared like a sacrifice- Smoke to the sky.

"Words full of wisdom Wise Odin chooseth Sitting with Saga Sokvabek's maid. Such, too, the saying Spoke by the monarch, Fair as of Mimer Flows the clear fount.

"Forsete faithful All feuds adjusteth, Sitting serenely By the side of Urd's spring; Thus high enthroned Thou, king beloved, Potently pleadest For peace in the land.

"Niggard in nothing, Near and far strewed he Beauty and blessing, Bought with his gold; Gave he most gladly Guerdon unstinted, Sadness he solaced, Suffering relieved.

"Welcome, thou wisest Winner of Valhal! Long thou'lt be lauded, Loved of the North. Brage, the bearded, Bears thee the mead-horn, Favored of fortune, Friend from below."

XXII.

THE KING'S ELECTION.

"To thing! to thing!" from dale to hill The cry arose. "King Ring is dead; his place to fill A king we'll choose."

From off the wall the peasant moves His steel sword blue; Its edge his practiced finger proves, It biteth true.

The boys admire in pleased surprise The gleaming blue: To lift the sword one vainly tries, It needeth two.

The daughter scours the helmet clean, Bright shall it be. And blushes, in its silvery sheen Her face to see.

At last he takes his shield so round. A sun in blood; "Hail! iron man, so strong and sound, Thou peasant good!

Renown and power which nations wield From thee they draw, In war thou art thy country's shield, In peace its law."

The assembly met, while sounding high Were arms and shields, In open thing, 'neath heaven's sky, In fair green fields.

Upon the thing-stone Fridthjof stands, And with him there A little one with shining bands Of golden hair.

Then rose the cry on every hand: "Too small indeed The king's son is to rule our land, Our wars to lead."

But Fridthjof on his shield raised up The little boy: "Ye Norsemen, here behold your hope, Your king, your joy.

"High Odin's race embodied here In image see, As much at home 'mid shield and spear, As fish in sea.

"I swear my lance and sword to set Round land and throne, And with the father's coronet To crown the son.

"The oath I make to Balder's son* Of high renown, And if I fail, may he not shun To strike me down."

*Forsete

The boy sat on the shield so high As 'twere a throne~ Undaunted as the eaglet's eye Looks toward the sun.

At last impatient grew his blood, And to the ground, The child leaped down and fearless stood ;-- A kingly bound!

Then rose the cry from all the thing: "We of the North, We choose but thee, be like king Ring, Thou shield-borne youth.

"And Fridthjof shall a guardian be, Thy youth to guide; His mother, earl, we give to thee, To be thy bride."

But Fridthjof frowned: "To-day," said he, "Election make, But not a bridal; leave to me A bride to take.

"To Balder's temple I'll repair, I go to see The norns who are already there Awaiting me.

"With them a council I have willed, The shield-maids true,-- Beneath the tree of time they build, Above it too.

"Against me Balder's anger sore Doth still abide; He took, he only can restore My cherished bride."

Saluting then the monarch new, He kissed his brow. And o'er the broom-heath passed from view, Silent and slow.

XXIII.

FRIDTIMOF AT HIS FATHER'S GRAVE.

"How brightly smiles the sun, so friendly seeming. As swift from branch to branch its soft rays glide! Allfather's light within the dew-drop gleaming, Is clear and pure as in the ocean wide. See! all the mountain tops with red are streaming,-- From Balder's altar flows the bloody tide; In night will shortly sink the world's commotion, As sinks the golden shield beneath the ocean.

"Yet let me first behold those well known places, My childhood friends that I have loved so well; The same sweet beauty still the valley graces, The same birds yet alight in wood and dell; The same blue wave the stable rock embraces,-- Oh, would I ne'er had tried its treacherous swell! It always speaks of fame and high endeavor, But far from home it bears thee on forever.

"I know thee, stream, whose waters erst were freighted With swimmer bold, who with thy billows fought! I know thee, too, thou vale where oft we plighted Eternal faith! Alas! earth holds it not! Ye birchen trees, whose bark I carved delighted With many runes, still wedded to the spot Your white stems stand, crown-capped with sunshine golden, All save myself unchanged since days now olden.

"Is all unchanged? Where, then, is Framness' dwelling, And Balder's temple on the sacred shore? At thought of childhood's dales my heart is swelling. But fire and sword devoured them, they're no more. Of human vengeance, of God's wrath their telling To wanderers over blackened field and floor; Thou pious pilgrim, come not here to ponder, For forest beasts in Balder's grove now wander.

"With Nidhug's curse each human life is teeming,-- The cruel tempter from the land of shade, He hates the asa-light with glory beaming On hero's brow and on his shining blade; Each coward deed, each act of wrathful scenting, Is his, a tribute unto darkness paid; He wins when temples burn and gods are slighted, He claps his coal-black hands and laughs delighted.

"Is there no expiation, radiant heaven? Thou blue-eyed god, dost thou no penance take? Man pardons man who has for pardon striven. When men atone the gods their wrath forsake; By thee, the mildest one, I'm unforgiven ;-- Command, and any sacrifice I'll make; No will had Fridthjof in the temple's burning; Oh! stainless make his shield, thine anger turning.

"Thy burden take away, I cannot bear it, The dark wood's music in my soul doth cry. A moment's fault! cannot a life repair it,-- An upright life? Then hear my contrite sigh! If Thor's fierce bolt should strike, I still would dare it: Nor shrink to meet the look of Hel's pale eye. Thou pious god, who moonlight glances bendest, 'Tis thee I fear, and vengeance which thou sendest.

"My father's grave is here. The hero sleepeth;-- Alas! whence he has gone none ever roam; A starry tent his home, no more he weepeth, Where shields rejoice and brimming mead-horns foam; Thou asa-guest, from heaven look down where keepeth His weary watch thy child. O father, come! I bring not runes nor charms, but bending lowly Would learn to appease pale Balder holy.

"Still silent is the grave? Ah yes, and cruel. A sword roused Angantyr within his grave; A sword is naught,--Tirfing a trifling jewel Compared with what I ask. A sword the brave Can gain on battle field or in a duel, Forgiveness from the asas' home I crave; Bear thou my plea, my sorrowing look to heaven, No rest have noble minds if unforgiven.

"Thou'rt silent, father! Hear the waves resounding, And send thy loving word by their sweet cry; Now flies the storm, on its swift pinions bounding. O, whisper to me as it flieth by; See golden rings the western sky surrounding, Let them the message give which words deny. No sign or answer for thy son forsaken? How poor indeed are those whom death has taken!"

The sun is quenched. The evening breeze is stealing Upon earth's children with its lullaby, And sunset tints in myriad circles wheeling Around the brim of heaven's rosy sky, O'er hill and dale their azure hues revealing, A vision now of Valhal passeth by; Then unexpected comes with rustling motion, An image, gold and flames from western ocean.

A wondrous Hagring now the heavens covers. (The name that Valhal gives hath lovelier sound), And over Balder's grove it gently hovers. A golden chaplet set in emerald ground; Resplendence everywhere the eye discovers, Such lustre mortals ne'er before had found. It stops and sinks to earth, not disappearing, But where the temple stood, a temple rearing.

An imaged Breidablik its wall upreareth, (So burnished silver on the cliff had shone), Each pillar cut of deep blue steel appealeth, The altar is a single precious stone, A power unseen the vaulted roof upbeareth, A winter sky with sparkling stars o'erstrewn; And there with golden crowns and robes befitting, Of azure splendor. Valhal's gods are sitting.

With rune-writ shields, the maids of fateful power, The noble norns, within the portal stand,-- Three rosebuds springing in a single flower, A grave and yet a fascinating band; While Urd is pointing to the ruined tower,-- The new one Skuld doth greet with welcome hand; But scarce restored is Fridthjof, filled with blended Delight and wonder, ere the scene is ended.

"From you, Time's maidens, comes illumination,-- Thine, hero-father, is the token good: The wasted shrine I'll build on sure foundation, In beauty shall it stand where erst it stood; How excellent to thus make expiation, By peaceful deeds to atone for actions rude! The outcast still may hope who sues in meekness,-- The White God softens, and forgives his weakness.

"All hail, ye myriad stars in splendor beaming! With joy I watch you silent tread the skies; And welcome, Northern-lights. above me streaming,-- No more a flaming temple to mine eyes: Grow green, O grave! and from the wave bright gleaming, Thou wondrous melody again arise.

I'll sleep upon my shield, and dream how heaven Forgets the faults its mercy hath forgiven.

XXIV.

THE RECONCILIATION.

Completed now was Balder's temple. Not enclosed As heretofore with fence of wood; of hammered steel, With golden knobs upon each bar, was built the fence Round Balder's ground. Like steel-clad champions ranged for war, With halberds and with golden helms, there stood it now On guard around the sanctuary of the god. Of giant stones alone the massive wall was built, And joined with active skill, a noble giant work For all eternity (as is Upsala's shrine,) Where Norseland saw its Valhal in an earthly mold. It stood there in its grandeur on the mountain cliff, And mirrored in the ocean wave its lofty brow, While round about it, like a zone of beauteous flowers, Far stretched the dale of Balder with its sighing groves. Its song of birds, a home where peace might reign supreme. High rose the copper-bolted portal, and within Two colonnades supported on strong omoplates The vaulted canopy, and beautiful it hung Above the temple, like a concave shield of gold. At farthest end stood Balder's altar. It was hewn From one huge block of northern granite: round it coiled A graven serpent, covered o'er with written runes, - Profoundest thoughts from Vala and from Ha'vama'l; But in the wall above was left an open space,-- A dark blue ground all filled with golden stars; and there A silver image sat--the pious god--as calm And mild as sits the silver moon in heaven's blue. Thus seemed the finished shrine. In couples entered now Twelve temple virgins, clad in robes of silver gauze, With roses glowing on their cheeks, and roses in Their guileless hearts. Before the image of the god, Around the altar newly consecrate they danced, As light spring winds above the flowing fountains flit, As dance the forest elves amid the waving grass. While yet the morning dew. like pearls, lies glittering there. And while they danced they joyful sang a sacred song Of pious Balder, and how dearly he was loved By every being; how he fell 'neath Hoder's dart, And earth and sea and heaven wept. Yet sounded not The song as though 'twere uttered by a human voice, But as a tone from Breidablik, from Balder's home; Or like the thought of lover to a lonely maid When pipes the quail his deep notes in the hush of night, And over northern birches falls the moonlight soft. Enraptured Fridthjof stood; he leaned upon his sword, And gazed upon the dance. Sweet childhood's memories thronged His vision by,--an innocent and pleasant folk, With smiling eyes reflecting heaven's blue, with heads Surrounded hy a halo of bright locks, they waved A kindly salutation to their childhood's friend. Then sank the bloody shadow of his viking life, With all its conflicts, all its perilous exploits, Down into night, and in his fancy stood he forth A flower-crowned monument above their grave. And ever, as the song increased, his spirit soared From earthly dales below to Valaskjalf above; Then melted human hate and human vengeance, too, As melts the icy coat of mail from off the cliff, When shines the sun in spring. A sea of quiet peace. Of silent ecstasy, possessed his hero-soul; It was as if he felt the heart of nature beat Against his own; as if, deep moved, he fain would fold Creation in his brotherly embrace, and be at peace With every living creature seen of God. Then came into the temple Balder's priest most high, Not young and beauteous as the god, but tall in form, With heavenly mildness beaming in his noble face, While down about his girdle flowed his silver beard. An unused reverence possessed proud Fridthjof's heart; The eagle wings upon his helmet meekly drooped Before the aged man, who thus spoke words of peace: "Son Fridthjof, welcome hither I've expected thee; The strong man gladly roves around the earth and sea, A berserk-like, who pallid bites the shield's hard edge, But weary grown, and thoughtful, wanders home at last. The powerful Thor went many times to Jotunheim,-- But spite his belt divine and gloves of finest steel, Still sits the Utgard-Loke on his lofty throne; For evil is itself a power, and will not yield,--- And piety not joined with power is children's play: 'Tis like the sunbeams on the breast of AEger thrown,-- An image faint, which falls and rises with the wave, Foundationless and insecure, devoid of trust. But power not joined with virtue eats itself away, As rust the buried sword. 'Tis life's unchecked carouse; The heron of oblivion hovers o'er the cup, And when the drinker wakes, he blushes for his deed. All power is from the earth of Ymer's body formed; Wild waves and flowing waters are the veins therein, From various metals are its tough strong sinews forged, And yet 'tis empty, desolate, unfruitful, till The sun its light and warmth, heaven's piety, sends down. Then spring the grass and flowers a web of many hues; The tree lifts up its crown and knits its golden fruit,-- And man and beast are nourished at the mother's breast. 'Tis thus with every child of Ask. Opposing weights Has Odin laid within the scales of human life,-- And when they balance true, then even stands the beam; And heavenly piety and earthly power they're called. The power of Thor is great whene'er about his loins, Immovable, he girds the belt of strength and strikes. Indeed is Odin wise, when Urd's clear silver fount He looketh down, and birds swift flying come to bring The Asas' father tidings from the world's extreme: Yet both turned pale, the radiance of their starry crowns Was half extinguished when the pious Balder fell,-- The band was he of all the diadems of heaven. Then withered on the tree of time its splendid crown, And Nidhug gnawed upon its root; then were loosed The powers of aged night. The Midgard serpent flung Toward heaven its poison-swollen tail, and Fenris howled, And Surt's swift fire-sword flashing gleamed from Muspelheim. Since then wherever thou mayest look the strife goes on, A war throughout creation. In Valhal crows The cock with goldcn comb. Upon and 'neath the earth The blood-red cock to battle calls. There once was peace Not only where gods dwell, but also on the earth; In man's as in the high gods' thoughts was peace. Whate'er has happened here below has also chanced In greater measure there; humanity is but An image frail of heaven; it is as Valhal's light Reflected in the shield of Saga writ with runes. Its Balder hath each heart. Remember'st thou the time When dwelt within thy breast sweet peace a guest, and life As joyful seemed, as heavenly calm, as song bird's dream When summer night-winds to and fro so gently wave Each fragrant blossom sleeping in its bed of green? Then holy Balder still abode in thy pure soul, Thou asa-son, thou wandering image of high heaven. For childhood Balder is not dead, and Hela gives Again her prey us often as a child is born. With Balder also groweth up in every soul His brother Hoder, blind, the child of night; for blind At birth is evil always, like the young of bears, and night Its mantle, but the good of earth rejoice in light. The tempter, busy Loke, always ready stands To guide the blind one's murderous hand. The missile oft To Valhal's love is sent, to Balder's tender breast. Then Hate awakes and Violence upon its prey Springs forth; the hungry sword-wolf prowls o'er hill and dale. And fiercest dragons wild swim o'er the bloody waves. For this meek Piety a powerless shadow sits One dead among the dead, and with him pallid Hel, And in its ashes Baldur's sanctuary lies. So too the asa's life on high prefigures that Mere human life below, and both are but the thoughts, The silent thoughts of Odin which can never change. What hath been, what shall be, that the song profound Of Vala knows,--Time's lullaby, its drapa too. Creation's annals have a melody the sam. And man may hear his own life's history therein. Dost comprehend or not? 'Tis Vala asketh thee. Thou seek'st atonement; know'st thou what atonement is? Oh, Fridthjof, look me in the eye and turn not pale! Round earth a mediator goes, his name is Death. A spark translucent, from eternity, is time: All earthly life is but the refuse from Allfather's throne; Atonement is to there return all purified. The lofty asas fall themselves, and Ragnarok The day of their atonement is, a bloody day On Vigrid's hundred miles of plain; there will they fall, But fall not unavenged, for there the evil die Forever, but the fallen good arise again, Refined, from out the flaming pyre to higher life. 'Tis true the star-crown, pale and withered, falleth down From heaven's temple; earth too, sinks beneath the sea, But brighter is it born again, and joyous lifts Its flower crowned head from out the seething waves,-- And new created stars pursue with god-like glance Their silent pathway round about the new-born earth. But on the green hill-slopes will Balder govern then The new-born asas, and a human race renewed. The golden tablets filled with runes, lost long ago, In Time's fresh morning, then are found amid the grass On Ida's plain, by Valhal's children reconciled. The fallen good in death are only tried by fire; It is atonement made, a birth to higher life, Which, purified, flies back to him from whom it came, And plays a guileless child upon its father's knee. Alas! that all the best is found beyond the grave,-- That gate of green which Gimle opens; vile is all, Contaminated all that dwells beneath the stars. And yet there is atonement found in life itself,-- A humble prelude to the peace of heaven above. 'Tis like the broken chords the minstrel strikes upon The harp, when he with skillful fingers wakes the song; The tone attuning with a gentle hand, before With firmer touch he grasps the golden strings,-- Grand memories of old alluring from their grave, While Valhal's splendor streameth on enraptured eyes. For earth, indeed, is only heaven's shadow, life The grounds in front of Balder's temple in the sky. The people sacrifice unto the gods; the steed Bedecked with gold and purple is an offering made. A token this with meaning most profound,--for blood Tints red the morning light of each atonement day. But signs are not the substitute, they can not atone, Thine own transgressions no one can amend for thee. In Odin's breast divine the dead are reconciled; Atonement for the living lies in their own hearts. One offering, I know, unto the gods more dear Than smoke of victims. 'Tis the sacrifice of thine Own vengeance, and thy heart's untamed and bitter hate. Canst thou not silence them, and canst thou not forgive, O youth? What wilt thou then in Balder's sacred house? With what intent hast thou this holy temple reared? With stones is Balder not appeased. Atonement dwells Below, as up above, alone where dwelleth peace. With all thy foes and with thyself be reconciled. The light-haired god will then be reconciled with thee. They have a Balder in the south--the virgin's son, Who by the Allfather wise was sent to explain the runes Upon the norns' black shield rand,--unexplained before. His battle-cry was peace, his conquering sword was love; And blameless sat the dove upon his silver helm. He holy lived and taught, he died and he forgave,-- And under distant palms his grave in sunlight lies. From dale to dale his followers wander, it is said. And melting hardened hearts, and laying hand in hand Establish peace upon the reconciled earth. I do not know the doctrine well, but dimly have I In my better moments guessed what it may mean,-- And every human heart at times divines as well. I know the time will come when it will lightly wave Its white dove-pinions over all our northern hills; But that day come, the North will be no more to us; The oaks will sigh above our long-forgotten graves. Oh, fortunate and blessed race! Ye who shall drink The sparkling beaker of that light, I bid you hail! It will be well if it can drive away the cloud Whose humid covering hitherto has veiled life's sun. But scorn not us, who, in sincerity, have sought With unaverted gaze to find the light divine. The Allfather is but one, though many herald him.

"Thou hatest Bele's sons. And wherefore hatest thou? Because to thee, a yeoman's son, they did not choose To give their sister, who belongs to Seming's race.-- The noble son of all-wise Odin. Their descent extends To Valhal's throne,--and pride of birth is theirs. Thou sayest that birth on fortune, not on worth, depends. Of merit all his own, O youth, is no one proud,-- But only of his fortune; for the best of things Are only God's good gifts to man. Art thou not proud Of thy heroic deeds, of thy superior strength? Who gave thee thy great strength? Did Asa-Thor not knit Thy sinewy arms as firm and close as oaken boughs? And is it not God's spirit high which joyous beats Within the citadel of thine arched breast? Is not The lightning God's which flashes in thy fiery eyes? Beside thine infant cradle sang the haughty norns The prince-song of thy life; for that thy merit is No whit the greater than the king's son's for his birth. Lest thy pride be condemned another's censure not. King Helge now is fallen." Here broke Fridthjof in: "King Helge fallen? When and where?"

"Thou canst but know That while thou here wert building, he was on the march Among the Finnish mountains. On a lonely crag There stood an ancient shrine. To Jumala 'twas built Abandoned long ago,--the door was now fast closed; But just above the portal still there stood a strange Old image of the god, now tottering to its fall. But no one dare approach, for there a saying rife Among the people went from age to age, that he Who first the temple sought should Jumala behold. This Helge heard, and, blinded by his furious wrath, Went up the ruined steps against the hated god,-- Intent to cast the temple down. When there arrived The gate was closed,-- the key fast rusted in the lock. Then grasping both the door-posts, hard and fierce he shook The rotten pillars. All at once, with horrid crash, Down fell the ponderous image, crushing in its fall The Valhal-son. And thus he Jumala beheld. A messenger last night arrived the tidings bore. Now Halfdan sits alone on Bele's throne. To him Thy hand extend, to heaven thy vengeance sacrifice. That offering Balder asks, and I, his priest, require In token that the peaceful god thou mockest not. If thou refuse, this temple then is built in vain, And vainly have I spoken."