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Viking Tales of the North Fridthjof's Saga
Page 2 All like
two bears they wrestle
On hills of snow, and draw And strain, each like an eagle On the angry sea at war. The root-fast rock resisted Full hardly them between, And green iron-oaks down twisted With lesser pulls have been. XII. From each broad brow sweat rushes, Their bosoms coldly heave, And stones and mounds and bushes Dints hundredfold receive. With awe its close abide the Men steel-clad on the strand; That wrestling-match was widely Renown’d in Northern land. XIII. At last to th’ earth down-reeling Has Fridthjof fell’d his foe, And ‘gainst his bosom kneeling, Fierce words succeed the blow; “If but my sword I brandish’d, O swarthy berserk-beard, Its point ere now, base vanquish’d, Had through thy back appear’d! XIV. “Let not that hindrance ‘larm thee,” Grim Atle proudly cried; Go! with thy rune-blade arm thee, — I’ll lie as I have lain. We both at last must wander Bright Valhal’s halls to view To-day can I go yonder, To-morrow haply you.” XV. And long pause Fridthjof made not, That play he finish will; He Angervadil stay’d not, But Atle yet lay still. Whereat, his heart relenting, He quick held in his brand, And checked his wrath, presenting The fallen foe his hand. XVI. Now Halvar warn’d right loudly, And raised his wand of white: “This fray ye sport so proudly Here causeth no delight. High-smoking long have gold and Fair silver dishes stood; The savory meats grow cold, and My thirst doth me no good.” XVII. Appeas’d, each now advances Within the jarl’s hall door, And much meets Fridthjof’s glances He ne’er had been before. The bare walls from the weather No rough-plan’d planks protect, But precious rich-gilt leather, With fruits and flowers bedeck’d. XVIII. There midst the floor ascended No blazing hearth-fire’s light, But ‘gainst the wall was bended The marble chimney bright. No smoke the dark roof tarnished, No soot the beams o’ercast; Glass panes the windows garnished, And locks the door held fast. XIX. There many a candle brightended From silver arms; no torch With crackling blaze enlighten’d The champions’ rude debauch. Whole-roast, rich odors flinging, A stag the board adorns, It’s gold-hoof raised for springing, And leaf’d its grove-like horns. XX. Behind each chief, a virgin Stands up, with lily dye, Just like some star emerging From out a stormy sky; Each step brown locks discloses, Clear sparkle eyes of blue, And, like to rune-sprung roses, Small lips bud forth to view. XXI. But high, right kingly seeming, Sat th’ jarl in silver chair, His helm with sun-rays streaming, His mail with gold wrought fair; And glist’ning stars o’erpowdered His mantle rich and fine, Its purple edging border’d With spotless ermeline. XXII. Steps three he took to meet him, To his guest his hand stretch’d free, Then friendly thus did greet him: “Come, seat thee next to me! Full many a horn I’ve emptied With Thorstein, my good fier! (1) His son, the wide-commended, Shall sit his host as near!” XXIII. The goblet then he crowneth With Sik’ley’s (2) richest wine; Its flame-sparks nothing drowneth, It foams like ocean’s brine. “My old friend’s son, I send thee A welcome here again; I drink — ‘to Thorstein’s mem’ry,’ Myself and all my men!” ENDNOTES: 1. Fier — man, especially a young doughty man (cp. Anglo-Sax. fir, gen. fires, the chief of living beings, man; fira bearn, children of men, etc.) Back 2. Sikeley (Sikel Isle) — the Icelandic name of Sicily. Back << Previous Page Next Page >>
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