By mortared hearthstone wide;
A marble fireplace glittered,
Built up against the side.
No smoke 'mid rafters flitted,
No roof with soot spread o'er;
Glass panes the windows fitted,
A lock secured the door.
No woollen torches crackling,
Illumed the champions' feast,
But waxen candles, sparkling,
In silver sconces placed.
A roasted stag, well larded,
The table's center graced;
Gold bands his raised hoof guarded,
With flowers his horns were dressed.
Beside each champion sitting,
A youthful maiden stood,--
An evening star, bright flitting,
Behind a stormy cloud
The blue eyes beamed, in showers
The gold-brown tresses flowed,
Complete as sculptured flowers
The little rose-lips glowed.
On silver stool, high mounted,
Sat Angantyr, the old;
His helm shot rays uncounted,
His corselet was of gold.
His mantle, rich and splendid,
With golden stars was strewn,--
And where the purple ended,
The spotless ermine shone,
Three steps the earl descended
To Fridthjof genially
He said, with hand extended:
"Come higher, sit by me.
Of horns I've emptied many
With Thorstein in his day;
His son, more famed than any,
Shall not sit far away."
He filled each goblet brimming
With wine from Sicily,--
Like sparks of fire 'twas gleaming,
And foaming like the sea.
"Welcome!" exclaimed the speaker,
"My friend's most worthy son!
To Thorstein fill a beaker,--
And drink now, every one!"
Now woke the harpstring's slumbers,
A skald from Morven's hills,
In Gaul's melodious numbers,
Sad hero-songs he trills.
But Thorstein's praise was chanted
In old Norwayan tongue;
His noble deeds were vaunted,
His daring valor snug.
The earl asked much concerning
His friends of days gone by;
In words replete with learning
Young Fridthjof made reply.
A judgment given blindly,
Swift accusation brings,
He spoke like Saga, kindly,
Remembering holy things.
And when he there recounted
How Helge goblins sent,
Which first the blue waves mounted,
Then, conquered, downward, went,
The champions cheered him loudly,
And Angantyr the same,--
In high approwd, proudly,
They echoed Fridthjof's name.
But when he spoke in anguish,
Of Ing'borg in her bloom,
How she was left to languish,
Her heart with grief o'ercome,--
Each maiden's cheek was burning,
Each bosom sore distressed;
And to her lover turning,
His faithful hand she pressed.
His embassy to mention
He ventured by and by;
The earl gave pleased attention,
And then he made reply:
"I ne'er was tributary;
King Bele's health, maybe,
To drink was customary,
But from his law we're free.
"His sons, I do not know them;
If tribute they demand,
Custom the way will show them,
We'll meet them on the strand,
And see who best is reckoned;
But Thorstein was my friend."
His daughter then he beckoned,
Who sat quite near at hand.
Then rose the maiden tender,
From stool all golden bound,
Her waist is trim and slender,
Her bosom full and round,
Each dimpled cheek encloses
An Astrild, roguish sprite,
As when on opening roses,
The butterflies alight.
She hastened to her bower,
A green silk purse she brought,
With bird and tree and flower
And beast 'twas deftly wrought;
On seas were white-winged vessels,
Beneath the silver moon,
Of gold were all the tassels,
The clasp with rubies shone.
She placed the dainty treasure
Within her father's band;
He filled it, brimming measure,
With coin from foreign land.
"This welcome gift is only
A tribute to a friend;
And now the winter lonely
Consent with us to spend.
True courage knows no danger,
But Heyd and Ham, I fear,
Revived await the ranger,
And winter storms are here.
All foes the deep is hiding,
Ellide may not shun,
And many whales are riding
The waves, though conquered one."
With jesting and potation
The hours till day were spent,
Without inebriation
The wine-cup gladness lent.
A brimming skoal was given
To Angantyr at last;
So Fridthjof in this haven
The cheerful winter passed.
XII.
THE RETURN.
Now spring is breathing in skies of blue,
And earth her carpet has woven anew,
And Fridthjof grateful his kind host leaving
Again the billowy plain is cleaving,
And gayly speeding through silver-spray,
His black swan ploweth her sunny way.
The western breezes that spring is bringing,
Like nightingales in the sails are singing,
And AEger's daughters in veils of blue
About the rudder their sports pursue.
Ah, how delightful when safely clearing
A foreign land, to be homeward steering!
When memory pictures the smoke that curled
Above one's hearthstone, his childhood's world,
The fount where playing his swift feet hurried,
The honored graves where his dead are buried.
He thinks of her who perchance may be
On high cliffs standing to watch the sea.
Six days he sailed on his way returning,
The seventh a strip of blue discerning
Low down the horizon, he neared it fast,
Saw rock and islet and land at last.
That land is his; from the waves advancing,
He sees green forests in sunlight dancing.
He hears the roar of the foaming streams,
Can trace each cliff which with granite gleams,
Salutes the headland and sound, then glideth
Along by the groves where his Ing'borg bideth.
Thinks how last summer each evening fair,
With her beside him he wandered there.
"Where is she? Guesses she not her lover
Is near her, safely the blue waves over?
Perhaps, removed from her Balder's care,
She strikes the harp in the palace, where
Her grief she'd lessen, her needle plying."
Then sudden rises his falcon, flying
From temple turret, then downward flits
To Fridthjof's shoulder, and there he sits,
As was his wont, of his love to assure him.
From Fridthjof's shoulder can none allure him,
He scratches fast with his gold-tipped claws,
He gives no quiet, he makes no pause.
To Fridthjof's ear now his beak he bendeth,
Perchance some loved one a message sendeth;
Is it Ingeborg? Wildly his pulses bound,
But none interprets the broken sound.
Ellide gayly the headland rounding,
Skips lightly on, like a roebuck bounding.
Familiar waters surround the prow
Where happy Fridthjof is standing now.
He rubs his eyes and his hand he places
Above his brow to discern the traces
Of home so dear; but he looks in vain,--
Of Framness ashes alone remain.
The naked chimney stands lone and dreary,
Like warriors' bones of their grave-mounds weary;
The garden place is a blackened floor,
The ashes whirl round the wasted shore.
In bitter mood from his ship he hasteth,
Around the ruins his eyes he casteth,
His father's dwelling, his childhood's pride.
Then faithful Bran with the shaggy hide,
Comes running toward him, each moment faster,--
Of forest bears had he oft been master;
How high he springs in his gladsome glee,
How leaps with pleasure his friend to see.
The milk-white steed he so oft had ridden
Comes bounding up from the valley hidden,
With swan-like neck and the frame of a hind
And gold mane floating upon the wind.
He curves his neck and he stamps while standing,
His food from Fridthjof's own hand demanding;
But Fridthjof, poorer by far than they,
Has nought to give them,--he turns away.
Unsheltered, sorrowful stands the rover;
He looks at the meadow and grove burnt over,-
Of Hilding's coming quite unaware,
His foster-father with silver hair.
"At what I see I can scarcely wonder,
When eagles flit then their nests are plunder.
'Tis Helge's deed lest the land be wroth,
So well he keeps his crowning oath!
To hate mankind and to gods be loyal,
While blackened homes mark his progress royal!
More grief it gives me and less of pain;
But where does my Ingeborg meanwhile remain?"
"The word I hear," Hilding said in sadness,
"I fear will bring you but little gladness.
You scarce had sailed when king Ring came on,
Five shields I counted against our one.
In Disar-dale did we prove our valor,--
The river foamed with a crimson color.
King Halfdan's jest and his laugh arose,
So too the sound of his manly blows.
My shield I held as a buckler o'er him,
Well pleased with fruits his bravery bore him.
Not long indeed did the battle last.
King Helge yielded, and flying fast,
Though asa-blood in his veins was welling,
In passing Framness he fired the dwelling.
Before the brothers the choice was placed,
To give their sister to Ring, disgraced.
(By her alone could his wrongs be righted),
Or give their throne for his offer slighted.
Then hither and thither the messengers hied,
But now has Ring carried home his bride."
"O woman, woman!" said Fridthjof, scorning,
"Old Loke's thought should have been a warning;
His thought a lie, was in woman's form,
To man he sent it his heart to warm,
A blue-eyed lie that with tears alarms us,
Forever cheats and forever charms us;
A rose-checked lie with bust defined,
Of spring-ice virtue and faith like wind;
From out whose heart folly often glances,
On whose fresh lips basest falsehood dances.
And yet how dear to my heart was she!
And dear as ever she still must be.
My wife I've called her since in the wildwood.
We played together in happy childhood.
Of high achievement if e'er I thought,
Her love alone was the prize I sought;
As stems which grow from one root together,
If Thor strikes one then they both will wither;
If one its vesture of emerald shows,
The other mantles with green its boughs.
Our lives in joy and in grief thus blended,
I cannot think of the union ended.
But I'm alone. O, thou noble Var
Who wanderest over the earth afar,
To record on gold every vow that's spoken,
Forego thy pastime, the vows are broken.
The tablet filled with but falsest lies,
The faithful gold 'gainst the insult cries.
Of Balder's Nanna I've oft been dreaming,
But truth in mortals is only seeming.
In faithfulness can no heart rejoice
Since falsehood borrows my Ingeborg's voice,--
A voice like wind which o'er flower fields strayeth
Or harp-strings' music when Brage playeth.
I'll list no more when the harp is tried,
I will not think of my faithless bride;
Where storms are raging there will I follow,
Till blood thou drinkest, thou ocean billow.
Where swords sow seeds for pale death to reap,
On mount or vale I my vigil keep.
If king I meet and to combat dare him
I smile to think how my sword shall spare him.
But if in battle a youth I meet,
With heart enamored and visions sweet,
Deluded fool who on faith relieth,
I'll hew him down e'er the vision flyeth,
Will kindly slay him ere yet he be
Deceived, disgraced and betrayed like me."
"The blood that's youthful no boundaries heedeth,"
Old Hilding said, "how much it needeth
The cooling touch of the snows of age.
You wrong the maid with your senseless rage.
My foster-daughter beware of blaming
For adverse fortune which, heaven ordaining,
The wrathful norns upon men below
Hurl down, for none can escape the blow.
Like silent Vidar, no outward token
The maiden gave that her heart was broken.
Her grief was mute as in southern grove
The voiceless woe of the widowed dove.
To me alone who her childhood guided
Was all the pain she endured confided.
As dives the sea-fowl with wounded breast
Lest daylight's eye should upon it rest,
And there remaineth with life-blood flowing,
No sign of weakness or misery showing,
So she in darkness her suffering bore,
And only I saw her anguish sore.
She often said: 'I am but an offering
For Bele's kingdom; who talks of suffering!
The snow-drop fragrant, with leaf and vine
To deck the victim in wreaths they twine.
How sweet to die and escape from anguish!
But no, in pain must I live and languish;
For Balder's wrath will no rest allow
My aching heart and my throbbing brow.
But tell to no one my secret sorrow,
I'd rather suffer than pity borrow;
King Bele's daughter her fate may dare,--
But kindly greeting to Fridthjof bear.'
The wedding day with its footsteps fateful
Arrived at last. O, the day most hateful!
To the temple marched in procession sad,
The white-robed virgins and men steel-clad;
A bard dejected the train was guiding,
The pale bride followed, a black steed riding
As pale was she as the wraith which sits
On a storm-cloud black, when the lightning flits.
From off the saddle I quietly took her,
Nor at the temple door forsook her;
But led her up to the altar, where
Her vows she uttered in accents clear.
She wept and prayed, on good Balder calling,
While down her cheeks were the tear-drops falling.
When Helge saw on her arm your band,
He tore it off with an angry hand;
On Balder's image now hangs the jewel.
My wrath burst forth at this act so cruel;
My sword was by me, I drew it forth,--
King Helge then was but little worth.
'Let be,' said Ing'borg, in accents broken,
'My brother might surely have spared this token;
How much one suffers ere death sets free,--
The Allfather judgeth 'twixt him and me.'"
"The Allfather judgeth," said Fridthjof slowly,
"I too would give him my judgment lowly.
Is't not now mid-summer, Balder's feast?
And in the temple the crowned priest,--
The king, who sold the maiden tender?
Ah! yes, my judgment I fain would render."
XIII.
BALDER'S FUNERAL PILE.
Midnight's sun on the mountain lay,
Blood-red was its gleaming
It was not night nor was it day,
But just between them seeming.
Balder's bale-fire, symbol bright,
On sacred hearth was burning,--
Soon is quenched its wasted light,
Hoder's reign returning.
Priests around the temple wall
Burning brands were grasping;
Silver-bearded, old men all,--
Their hard hands flint knives clasping.
The crowned king stands the altar near;
Hark! the midnight soundeth,--
With clash of weapons, sharp and clear,
The sacred grove resoundeth.
"Bjorn, stand fast by yonder door,
No one must pass under,
Whosoe'er would cross the floor,
Cleave his skull asunder."
Helge paled: he knew too well
Whose that voice so ringing.
Forth stood Fridthjof; his fierce words fell
Like autumn storm winds singing.
"Here's the ordered tribute; it came
Safe through the tempest's rattle;
Take it; then here by Balder's flame,
For life or death we'll battle.
"Shields behind us, our bosoms free.
Fair the fight be reckoned;
As king, the first blow belongs to thee,
Mind thou, mine's the second.
"Caught at last is the wily fox,
Vain all thought of flying;
Think of her with the golden locks,
Of Framness wasted lying."
Thus he spake, and the purse he'd brought,
Forth he quickly drew it,
Careless of the mischief wrought,
In Helge's face he threw it.
Darkness swam before the eyes
Of asas' kinsman sainted;
Blood gushed forth, he could not rise,
But near his altar fainted.
"With the gold you as tribute claim,
Are you overpowered?
None shall Angervadil blame
For felling such a coward.
"Silence, priests with altar-knives,
Moonshine princes, quiet!
Else my sword may drink your lives;
Thirsting 'tis to try it.
"Holy Balder, thy wrath forbear,
Nor 'gainst me enrol it:
But the arm-ring which you wear,
Yonder craven stole it.
"Not for thee did Volund old
Work its fair dimensions;
The maiden wept, but the thief was bold;
Away, such false pretensions."
Bravely drew he; together fast
Arm and ring seemed growing;
Angered Balder, when loosed at last,
Fell 'mid the embers glowing.
Hark! each flame, as it leaps on high,
A golden tooth resembles;
Bjorn, all pale, stands the doorway nigh,
Fridthjof, anxious, trembles.
"Open, Bjorn, let the people go,
Bv watchmen unimpeded;
The temple burns; throw water, throw
The ocean full, if needed."
Now a chain is knit to the strand,
Not a link is missing;
Flies the billow from hand to hand
Against the fire-brands hissing.
Fridthjof sits like the god of rain
High o'er beam and water,
Gives to all his orders plain,
Calm amid the slaughter.
Vain! the fire has the upper hand,
Smoke-clouds dense are growing,
Gold falls first on the red-hot sand,
Silver streams are flowing.
All is lost! to the half-burned hall
A fire-red cock is clinging,
He sits and crows on the roof-peak tall,
His loosened pinions swinging.
The wind-blown flame mounts the vaulted sky,
Everything it levels,
Balder's grove is summer dry,
The hungry fire-king revels.
Fiercely leaping from height to height
Aiming yet still higher;
O, what wild and terrific light!
Strong is Balder's pyre!
Hark, it crackles! the roots now burn,
The tops are fiery showers;
Muspel's ruddy children spurn
Man's mere human powers.
A fire-sea billows in Balder's grove,
Strandless breaks and hisses,
The sun is up, but bay and cove
Mirror flaming abysses.
Soon in smoldering ashes lay
Grove and temple's adorning;
Sadly then Fridthjof turned away,--
Wept in the light of morning.
XIV.
FRIDTHJOF GOES INTO EXILE
On deck at night
In summer bright,
Sat Fridthjof grieving;
Like billows heaving,
Now wrath, now grief,
In his heart was chief;
And shoreward turning
Saw fires still burning.
"Thou temple reek
Fly up and seek
High Valhal's towers;
The White God's powers
Call down on me
With wrath's decree.
And tell, swift bounding,
The vault resounding,
The temple burned
To dust is turned;
The imaged glory
But lives in story.
Quick burned the god
Like common wood.
The grove protected
Nor once neglected
Since men swords bore
Is now no more;
By fire the slaying
Not time's decaying.
Forget no word
Thou hast seen or heard,
In Balder's dwelling
The story telling,
Thou message cloud
Of gods the shroud.
Long live in story
King Helge's glory,
Who exiled me
From him and thee,
My father's nation.
We'll roam creation
Where blue is king,
Where wild waves sing.
Thou canst not rest thee
Ellide, haste thee;
Earth's farthest bound
We'll sail around.
Soon thou'lt be rocking,
The sea-foam mocking,
My dragon good;
A drop of blood
Will nothing hinder
As on we wander.
In fiercest storm
Art thou my home;--
The one I cherished
By Helge perished.
Thou art my North
My foster-earth,--
The other leaving
I wander grieving:
My bride caressed
In black robes dressed;
The one in lustre
I could not trust her.
Thou ocean free,
Unknown to thee
Is king oppressive,
Untrue, aggressive.
Thy king is he
Among the free
Who trembles never
How high soever,
With wrath oppressed,
Heaves thy white breast.
Blue fields are charming
And not alarming;
There heroes plow
With keel and bow,
And blood-rain showers
In oaken bowers.
The good steel blade
Is seed-corn made.
The fields bring yearly
Not honor merely,
But gold as well.
Oh, kindly swell,
Thou ocean billow!
Thee will I follow.
My father's grave
Calm waters lave
(How still he sleepeth
Where green grass creepeth).
Mine blue shall be,
Flecked like the sea;
Forever floating,
On tempest gloating,
And fathoms deep
Draw men to sleep;
To me thou'rt given
For life a haven;
My grave thou'lt be,
Thou ocean free."
Thus inly burning
Sang Fridthjof, turning
His prow so true
From seas he knew,
And slowly creeping
'Mid rocks still keeping
Their faithful ward
O'er shallow fjord.
But vengeance watcheth;
King Helge fetcheth
Ten dragons out.
Thh people shout,
With breath abated:
"The king is fated;
He offers fight,
We scorn his might;
Though heaven-descended,
His reign is ended;
From earth we know
He now must go,
The blood god-given
Now longs for heaven."
Scarce was it spoke
Ere keels of oak
By unseen power
Began to lower;
Then on and on
Are downward drawn
To Ran's safe keeping.
King Helge, leaping,
Is glad to swim
From the sinking stem.
And Bjorn, none blaming,
Laughed loud, exclaiming:
"Thou asa-blood,
The art was good;
No one detected,
Or e'en suspected,
I bored so quick,--
A worthy trick!
May waves enfold them
And Ran still hold them
As heretofore.
It grieves me sore
That Helge misses
False Ran's cold kisses."
In wrathful mood
King Helge stood
From death delivered;
His round bow quivered,
Though made of steel,
As toward the shoal
So hard he drew it,
Though scarce he knew it,
It clanging broke.
Then Fridthjof spoke,
His lance well aiming,
While loud exclaiming:
"A death-bird here,
Enchained I bear:
If once set; flying,
Then low is lying
Thy coward head.
By Loke led
Thy fear abuseth;
My lance, refuseth
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."
Then stepped Halfdan in,
Across the copper threshold, and with doubtful look
He stood aloof from him he feared and silence kept.
Then Fridthjof loosed the breastplate-hater from his side,
Against the altar placed his shield's bright golden orb,
And weaponless approached his silent waiting foe.
"In such a strife," said Fridthjof, in a kindly voice,
"The noblest he who offers first his hand for peace."
King Halfdan blushed, then off he drew his glove of steel,
And hands long separated met in friendly clasp,--
A hearty hand-shake, steadfast as the mountain's base.
And then the aged priest revoked the ban which on
The outlawed temple-violater long had lain.
'Twas scarce dissolved ere entered [Ingeborg, attired
In bridal robes and ermine mantle, with her maids,--
So glides the moon, whom stars attend, in heaven's vault;
With tear-drops in her lovely eyes, she fell upon
Her brother's neck; but he, with deep emotion, laid
His sister, grown more dear, on Fridthjof's faithful breast;
And o'er the altar of the god she gave her hand
To him, her childhood's early friend, her heart's beloved.
GLOSSARY.
For such explanations as are not found in the original notes we are chiefly
indebted to Prof. R. B. Anderson, of the University of Wisconsin, and to his
valuable work, NORSE MYTHOLOGY. We are also under obligations to Mrs. E.
Hasselqvist, of the Augustana College of Rock Island, Illinois.
AEGER. The god of the stormy sea.
AEGER'S BOSOM. The sea.
ALFHEIM (elf-home). Frig's dwelling.
ANGANTYR. A champion who was slain in a duel hy Hjalmar the vigilant, and was
buried with his sword Tirfing. His daughter Hervar called upon her dead father
for the sword, and, according to the story, was answered. See Canto XXIII.
ANGERVADIL (grief-wader). Fridthjof's sword.
ASA. God. It is used as a prefix, as Asa-Thor, Asa-Loke. etc.
ASA-SONS. A people who came from Asia and. settled the North, and who claimed
descent from the gods.
ASGARD. Home of the gods.
ASK. The first man.
ASTHILD. Cupid.
BALDER (the best). The mildest, the wisest and the most eloquent of the gods.
He is the god of innocence, the White God.
"Balder dies in nature when the woods are stripped of their foliage, when the
flowers fade and the storms of winter howl. Balder dies in the spiritual world
when the good are led away from the paths of virtue, when the soul becomes
dark and gloomy, forgetting its heavenly origin. Balder returns in nature when
the gentle winds of spring stir the air, when the nightingale's high note is
heard in the heavens, and the flowers are unlocked to paint the laughing soil,
when light takes the place of gloom and darkness. Balder returns in the
spiritual world when the lost soul finds itself again, throws off tho mantle
of darkness, and like the shining spirit soars on wings of light to heaven, to
God who mgve it." See NORSE MYTHOLOGY, p. 294.
BAUTA-STONE. A rough stone set up at warriors' graves, and having no
inscription.
BERSERK (bear-coat). The old Northern athletes or champions wore the skins of
bears, wolves or reindeer, and went into battle with loud cries, wearing no
armor.
BERSERK-GANG. The onset of the berserks.
BIFROST (the trembling way). The rainbow, the bridge of the gods.
BJORN (a bear). Notice the play upon this word in Canto X, p. 94:
"Bjorn attend the rudder,
Grip it with a bear's paw."
BLOOD-EAGLE. When a foe deserved especial cruelty, he was put to death by
carving the picture of an eagle on his back. see Canto XVI, p. 150.
BRAGE. God of poesy: a son of Odin.
BRAN. Fridthjof's dog.
BREIDABLIK (broad-gleaming). Balder's abode.
BURN SALT. A common expression for making salt.
DELLING (day-spring). Dawn.
DELLING'S SON. Day.
DISARSAL. The temple of the goddesses.
DRAGON. A war vessel. See description of Ellide, Canto III, p. 3O.
DRAPA. A funeral hymn, reciting the virtues of the deceased.
EFJE-SOUND. A sound in the Orkney Islands.
FAFNER. A son of Hreidmar and brother of Regin and Otter. Fafner and Regin
demanded of their father a share of the gold obtained of Odin as Otter's
ransom. Hreidmar refused, and Fafner slew his father, and, taking all the
gold. assumed the form of a dragon and fled. He concealed tho gold on Gnita
heath, where he was found by Sigurd, who, at the instigation of Regin, slew
Fafner. He accomplished this by digging a pit in Fafner's path and concealing
himself therein until the dragon passed over him, when he thrust his sword
through Fafner's heart. See NORSE MYTHOLOGY, p. 377; also the story of the
Volsungs and Niblungs, translated by Magnusson and Morris. Sweden, 1870.
FAFNER'S BANE. The slayer of Fafner; Sigurd.
FENRIS. A wolf, and one of Loke's children. Chained by the gods until
Ragnarok, he gets loose and conquers Odin, but is himself slain hy Vidar.
FOLKVANG (the folk-field). Freyja's dwelling.
FORSETE (the presider). Son of Balder and Nanna. The god of justice.
FOSTER-BROTHER. It was customary in the North, when two persons entered into
friendship for life and death, or, as it was called, foster-brothership, that
each wounded himself and allowed his blood to mingle with the other's. See,
concerning Fridthjof and Bjorn, Canto III, p. 34.
FREY (a lord). The god of harvests: the dispenser of wealth.
FREYJA. Frey's soster, and goddess of love.
FRIGG. The wife of Odin and mother of Balder.
FUTHORC. The runes taken collectively are properly called the futhorc, the
word being made up of the names of the first of the runes. Compare "alphabet".
GEFJUN. The goddess of maids.
GEIRS-ODD (spear-death). Death by the spear, self-inflicted. See Valhal.
GERD. Frey's wife, and very beautiful.
GIMLE. The heaven of heavens, where dwell the righteous after Ragnarok.
GJALLARHORN. The horn of Heimdal, the Saint Peter of the old mythology. It was
heard all over the world.
GLITNER (the glittering). Forsete's golden dwelling.
GRONING-SOUND. A sound between the Danish Islands.
GUDBRAND'S DALE. Canto XIV, p. 138. in the diocese of Aggerhus, celebrated
afterward (1612) for a battle in which the Norwegians slaughtered the forces
of Col. St. Clair, the Scotch ally of Christian IV, of Denmark.
HAGBART. the sea-king, who became secretly betrothed to Signe, of Princess,
thereby gaining the enmity of her father, who captured and hung him. Signe,
unwilling to survive her betrothed, set fire to her dwelling and was burned to
death.--See Cantos XVI and XVII.
HAGRING. Fata morgana.
HA'VAMA'L. The high song of Odin, containing many wise precepts for the
government of men.
HEL. The goddess of death.
HILDER. The goddess of war.
HODER. The blind god; brother of Balder. Tempted by Loke, he slew Balder with
the mistletoe.
IDA'S PLAIN. Where the gods assemble after Ragnarok.
IDUN. Wife of Brage. She is the rejuvenating goddess, the "ever-renovating
spring," and hence she is dressed in green. --See Canto I, p. 5. She keeps
the apples of immortality.
JOTUNHEIM. The abode of the Giants.
LOKE. The evil one. "He is the sly treacherous father of lies. In appearance
he is beautiful and fair, but in his mind he is evil, and in his inclinations
he is inconstant. Notwithstanding his being ranked among the gods, he is the
slanderer of the gods, the grand contriver of deceit and fraud, the reproach
of gods and men. Nobody renders him divine honors. He surpasses all mortals in
the arts of perfidy and craft." -See NORSE MYTHOLOGY, page 373.
MIDGARD. The earth; the abode of man.
MIDGARD-SERPENT. A child of Loke. It was cast into the sea by Odin, and it
grew till it reached around the whole world.
MIMER. The wise giant keeper of the holy well of wisdom.
MORVEN'S HILLS. Hills in the north of Scotland.
MUSPELHEIM. The abode of fire.
MUSPEL'S SONS. Flames.
NANNA. Balder's wife; goddess of flowers. She died heartbroken at Balder's
death.
NASTRAND (the shore of corpses). Where the wicked are punished after Ragnarok.
NIDHUG. The dragon which lives in the fountain Hvergelmar and gnaws the root
of Ygdrasil.
NIFLHEIM. The world of mists; the lower world; the place of punishment.
NORNS. The Fates. They are three: Urd, the past; Verdande, the present, and
Skuld, the future. They control the destinies of gods and men.
ODER. Freyja's husband.
ODIN. The chief of the gods. He is the all-pervading spirit of the world, the
governor of the universe, the author of war and the inventor of runes and of
poetry. In appearance he is old, tall, one-eyed and long-bearded. He wears a
broad-brimmed hat and a many-colored coat, and carries a spear called Gungner.
ODIN'S BIRDS. Odin has two ravens, Hugin and Munin (reflection and memory),
which every day fly around the world and return to him with intelligence of
all that happens.
PEASANT. The piece of lowest rank in chess; a pawn.
RAGNAROK (the twilight of the gods). The day of the destruction of the world,
and of the regeneration of gods and men. See Canto XXIV.
RAN (the robber). Goddess of the sea; wife of AEger.
ROTA. One of Valhal's maidens; a valkyrie.
RUNES. The letters of the ancient Scandinavian alphabet were called runes
(secrets). The runes were sixteen in number, and previous to the introduction
of Christianity they were supposed to have been invented by Odin himself. A
knowledge of them was for a long time confined to a few, who use them for the
purposes of sorcery.
RUNE-STONE. A stone inscribed with runes, and set up at graves or elsewhere as
a monument.
SAGA. Goddess of history; hence a history.
SEMING. A son of Odin. The early kings of Norway traced their lineage
directly to Seming.
SIGNE. See Hagbart
SKINFAXE (shining mane). The horse of Day.
SKOAL. A health.
SKULD. The future. See Norns.
SLEIPNER (the slipper). Odin's course with eight feet.
SOKVABEK. Dwelling of Saga.
SURT. God of fire.
THING (pronounced ting). A deliberative assemblage of Norsemen, composed of
all who were capable of bearing arms. It was held in the open air. The
thingsmen expressed approval of any measure by striking the shield with the
sword.
THOR. The second of the gods; the thunderer; the subduer of the frost giants.
He has a red beard; his weapon is a short-handled hammer called Mjolner. He
is girt with a belt of strength, and wears iron gloves. His sons are Magne and
Mode, strength and courage.
URD. The past. See Norns.
URD'S FOUNT. The fountain from which the norns sprinkled the tree Ygdrasil.
UTGARD-LOKE. The Loke of the Giants,--called Utgard, because he dwelt in the
uttermost parts of the world, Jotunheim.
VALA. A prophetess.
VALASKJALF. Odin's dwelling.
VALHAL (the hall of the slain). Only those who fell by wounds received in
battle, or self-inflicted, were entitled to the joys of Valhal, where they
were feasted by Odin and attended by the valkyries.
VALKYRIES (choosers of the slain). Goddesses who serve in Valhal and go on
Odin's errands.
VAR. The goddess who presides over marriages.
VEGTAM. A name assumed by Odin when he went to consult the vala concerning the
fate of Balder.--See NORSE MYTHOLOGY, page 281.
VIDAR (forest). The silent god; a son of Odin. He slays the Fenris-wolf at
Ragnarok.
VINGOLF (floor of friends). Freyja's dwelling.
VOLUND. A renowned smith corresponding to Vulcan.
YGDRASIL. An ash tree; the tree of the world. The norns sprinkled the top
with water from Urd's fountain and thus kept it alive, although Nidhug gnawed
its roots.
YMER. An enormous giant slain by the gods, and of whose body they created the
world.