I.

Two plants in Hilding’s garden fair
Grew up beneath his fostering care;
Their match the North had never seen,
So nobly tow’r’d they in the green!

II.

The one shot forth like some broad oak,
Its trunk a battle-lance unbroke;
but helmet-like the top ascends,
As heav’n’s soft breeze its arch’d round bends.

III.

Like some sweet rose, — bleak winter flown, —
That other fresh young plant y-shone;
From out this rose spring yet scarce gleaneth,
Within the bud it lies and dreameth.

IV.

But cloud-sprung storm round th’ earth shall go, —
That oak then wrestles with his foe;
Her heav’nly path spring’s sun shall tread, —
Then opes that rose her lips so red!

V.

Thus sportful, glad, and green they sprung,
And Fridthjof was that oak the young;
The rose so brightly blooming there,
She hight was INGEBORG THE FAIR.

VI.

Saw’st thou the two by gold-beam’d day,
To Freyja’s courts thy thoughts would stray,
Where bright-hair’d and with rosy pinions,
Swings many a bride-pair — love’s own minions.

VII.

But saw’st thou them by moonlight’s sheen.
Dance round beneath the leafy green,
Thou’dst say, in yon sweet garland-grove
The king and queen of fairies move.

VIII.

How precious was the prize he earn’d
When his first rune the youth had learn’d! —
No kings could his bright glory reach, —
That letter would he Ing’borg teach.

IX.

How gladly at her side steer’d he
His bark across the dark blue sea!
When gaily tacking Fridthjof stands,
How merrily clap her small white hands!

X.

No birds’ nests yet so lofty were,
That thither he not climb’d for her;
E’en th’ eagle, as he cloudward swung,
Was plunder’d both of eggs and young.

XI.

No streamlet’s waters rush’d so swift,
O’er which he would not Ing’borg lift;
So pleasant feels, when foam-rush ‘larms,
The gentle cling of small white arms!

XII.

The first pale flow’r that spring had shed,
The strawberry sweet that first grew red,
The corn-ear first in ripe gold clad, —
To her he offered, true and glad.

XIII.

But childhood’s days full quickly fly;
He stands a stripling now, with eye
Of haughty fire which hopes and prayeth; —
And she, with budding breast, see! strayeth.

XIV.

The chase young Fridthjof ceaseless sought;
Nor oft would hunter so have fought;
For swordless, spearless all, he’d dare
With naked strength the savage bear.

XV.

Then breast to breast they struggled grim; —
Though torn, the bold youth masters him!
With shaggy hide now see him laden —
Such spoils refuse — how can the maiden?

XVI.

For man’s brave deeds still woman wile;
Strength well is worth young beauty’s smile;
Each other suit they, fitly blending
Like helm o’ver polished brows soft bending!

XVII.

But read he, some cold winter’s night.
(The fire-hearth’s flaming blaze his light,)
A song of Valhal’s brightness,
And all its gods and goddesses, —

XVIII.

He’d think: “Yes!” yellow’s Freyja’s hair,
A corn-land sea, breeze-waved so fair; —
Sure Ing’borg’s, that like gold-net trembles
Round rose and lily, hers resembles!