Viking Tales of the North
Fridthjof's Saga
Canto
VII
Page
1
Fridthjof’s Bliss.
I.
Let Bele’s sons at pleasure wander
From dale to dale for
sword and shield;
Mine get they no; with Balder yonder
Is all my world, my
battle-field.
Proud king’s revenge, — the wide earth’s sadness, —
I there will not look
back upon,
But only drink the gods’ own gladness,
With Ing’borg in sweet
union.
Long as day’s purple beam abideth
Which, warm, the sun on flow’ret show’rs, —
That rose-stain’d gauze-web like which hideth
My Ing’borg’s bosom, world of flow’rs,
Consum’d by longings fierce, undying, —
So long I stray upon the strand,
And with my sharp sword write, deep-sighing,
That loved one’s name upon its sand.
How ling’ring go the tedious moments!
Thou Delling’s son, why dronest thou?
Thou, sure, hast seen the groves and mountains,
The sounds and islands, long ere now?
In western halls dwells no fond maiden
Who, long since, waits thy dawn above,
And then, to thy young breast flies, laden
Still first, still last, with tales of-love?
At length thy toilsome route is over,
Thou sinkest to thine ocean-bed;
And eve, the gods’ glad sports to cover,
Draws round her curtains rosy-red.
Earth’s streams love-whisper to each other,
Heav’n’s breezes whisper love’s caress;
Hail! welcome, Night, the gods’ own mother,
With pearls upon thy bridal dress.
Those high, cold stars, how stilly glide they,
Fond lover like, on silent toe!
Ellide, fly o’er frith and tide-way, —
Shoot on, blue billow, faster go!
The white gods’s grove-land yonder bloometh,
To the good gods our course is bound;
And ‘neath there Balder’s temple gloometh,
Love’s goddess shelter’d in its round.
How blest I now the shore am treading!
I glad could kiss thee, earth! and you,
Small flow’rs, the crook’d path quaintly threading
With white and red, I’d glad kiss too!
Thou moon, who thus thy light-floods streamest
Round grove and temple, cairn and tomb,
How fair thou sittest there and dreamest,
Like saga in a marriage-room!
My feelings’ voice, sweet brook, who taught thee,
As with those flow’rs thou whisp’rest low?
And, Northland’s nightingale, who brought ye,
Stol’n from my breast, that plaintive woe?
See! fairies paint with ev’ning’s blushes
My Ing’borg’s shape on sky-cloth blue;
But envious Freyja forward rushes,
And far hence blows each beautious hue.
But fade and welcome, airy semblance!
Here comes herself, than hope more fair,
And faithful as is youth’s remembrance;
She comes — and love rewards by pray’r!
Come, dearest! let these arms inclose thee!
Come to this heart, with love on fire;
Come to my breast, and there repose thee,
My life’s bright star, my soul’s desire!
Like lily-stalk thy frame is slender,
Yet like ripe rose-bud full and free;
As th’ gods’ high will thou’rt pure, yet tender,
And warm as Freyja’s thought to be!
My fair one, kiss me! Let my passion
Light kindred flamings in thy soul; —
Ah! at that kiss the round earth’s fashion
Has gone, you heav’n’s fires cease to roll!
Nay, love! no perils here attend us!
Bjorn and his champions, all in arms,
Stand there below, and would defend us,
If need were, ‘gainst a world’s alarms;
Myself, how gladly thy defender! —
I’d fight as now I clasp thee here;
How bless’d, bright Valhal would I enter,
If thou wert my valkyrie!
Thou whisp’rest “Balder,” — his wrath fearest!
That gentle god all anger flies.
We worship here a lover, dearest!
Our heart’s love is his sacrifice.
That god whose brow beams sunshine splendor,
Whose faith lasts through eternity, —
Was not his love to beautious Nanna
As pure, as warm as mine to thee?
His image see! — himself broods o’er it, —
How mild, how kind his bright eyes move!
An off’ring bear I here before it,
A warm heart full of purest love.
Come, kneel with me! No altar-incense
To Balder’s soul more grateful is
Than two hearts vowing in his presence
A mutual faith as true as his!
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