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Viking Tales of the North Fridthjof's Saga
Summer
is past, II.
Long did I view Westward his sail on the wave as it flew; Sail, ah, how bless’d! that abideth Still where he rideth. III. Swell not so high, Billow of blue; fast enough he sweeps by. Guide him, ye stars! In his danger Shine on the stranger. IV. When, in the spring, Homeward he hastens, no Ing’borg will bring Welcomes i’ th’ valley to meet him, Hall-words to greet him. V. Deep under ground, Pallid and cold for her love she is found! Or, a sad victim, her brothers give her to others. VI. Mine shalt thou be, Hawk he forgot; yes, I’ll love as did he; Ing’borg will feed thee, through endless Skies hunting friendless. VII. Here, on his hand, Work I thy form on the cloth’s broad band: Pinions of silver and glowing Gold-talons sewing. VIII. Freyja one day Falcon-wings took, and through space hied away; Northward and southward she sought her Dearly-loved Oder. IX. Ah! could I wear Thine, they, alas! would not carry me there; Wings like the gods’, to the lonely, Death giveth only. X. Pretty one! keep Fix’d on my shoulder, and gaze on the deep; Gaze we and long as we will, no Keel cleaves the billow. XI. When I am dead, Doubtless returns he; then mind what I said: Fridthjof, whose tears will bewail me, Hail me, ah! hail me!
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