Fridthjof's Saga

Widely renowned was the sword, of swords most choice in the Northland!

Next most precious in price was an arm-ring, all over famous;

Forg’d by the halting Volund ‘twas, th’ old North-story’s Vulcan.

Three full marks weigh’d the ring, and of pure gold Volund had wrought it.

Haev’d was grav’d thereupon, with the twelve immortals’ strong castles —

Signs of the changing months, but the skald had sun-houses nam’d them.

Alfheim there was beheld, Frey’s castle; the sun ‘tis who, new-born,

Heav’n’s steep heights slow ‘ginneth to climb, uprising at Yule time.

Sokvabek also was there; in its hall sat Odin with Saga,

Drinking his wine from a golden bowl; that bowl is wide ocean                

tinted with gold from morn’s red beams; but Saga, the spring, is

Trac’d on the green-blooming plains with flow’rets, ‘stead of with rune-marks.

Balder was also there on his throne, hot midsummer’s sun, which

Down from the firmament pours rich beamings, of goodness the token;---

For in all good is streaming light, but evil in darkness.

Alway to tread, tires the sun in her course; and goodness is like her,---

Soon Turning giddy at such far heights; with a sigh, both wearied,

Sink to the land of the shades, Hel’s home; ‘tis Balder on death pile.

There, too, saw one the peace-fort, Glitner, where Forset’ th’ appeaser,

Balance in hand grave sat, the assize- and autumn- judge faultless.

These fair signs, and many thereto (light’s conflicts betok’ning

Far o’er the sky’s arch’d vault, an din each man’s breast when he museth),

Th’ artist had carv’d on the ring, while a splendid, firm-clasping ruby

Crowned its embracing round — as the bright sun crowneth her heaven.

Long this ring had an heir-loom been, for the race reach’d backward,

Though by the mother’s side great Volund reckon’d its founder.

Yet was this jewel once carried off by Sote, the pirate,

Who, o’er the north seas, pillaging rov’d, but afterward vanished.

Fame gave out, at the last, that Sote had buried in Bretland

Ship and rich goods and live self on the coast, in his wall’d-about barrow;

But no rest found he there, and his cairn was ceaselessly haunted.

Thorstein, also, that rumor had heard, and with Bele, his friend-chief,

Climb’d his good dragon-ship, salt billows clove and steer’d to the cairn-strand.

Wide as a temple’s arch, or some palace, firmly imbedded

‘Mong hard gravel and verdant turf, upheap’d was the grave-mound.

Light from its depths shone out; through a chink of the doorway in-gazing,

Saw those champions the viking-ship well pitched and well fastended—

Anchors and yards and masts still secure; but a figure all grizzly

High on the stern was sitting, a blue-flame mantle about him,

Dreadful and grim; fierce-scour’d he the blood-stain’d blade he had wielded,

Yet could not its stains scour away; all the gold he had plunder’d

Lay heap’d up and about; himself on his mar bore the bracelet.

“Now,” whisper’d Bele, “we’ll straight go down and fight with the goblin,

Two against one fire-sprite!” But half-wroth answer’d him Thorstein:

“One ‘gainst one was the use of our fathers; alone will I fight him!”

Long was it now contended which of the two should encounter

First that perilous foe; till at last took Bele his steel-helm,

Shook two lots, and decided the quarrel. Glimmering star-light

Show’d his lot to brave Thorstein again. At one blow of his iron-lance

Locks and strong bolts gave way. If a champion questioned him ever

What in that night-gloomy deep he’d seen, he silently shudder’d.

Chantings wild heard Bele first, most like to a spell-song;

Then came loud-clashing sounds, as of swords cross’d fiercely in conflict;

Lastly a horrible scream. Then was silence. Out tottered Thorstein,

Stagg’ring, pale and confused –for with death, demon-death, had he battled.

Th’ arm-ring yet grasped he tight; “Tis dear-bought,:” often observed he.

“Once, but once in my life, I’ve trembled –‘twas when I took it!”

Widely renowned was that gem, of gems most choice in the Northland.

Lastly: the swift-winged Ellide rank’d ‘mong the family treasures.

Viking, ‘twas said, as he homeward return’d from a far-stretching foray,

Sailing along his coasts one day, saw a man on a ship-wreck,

Who yet merrily swung up and down, as sporting with ocean.

Tall was the man, and nobly formed, and his features were open,

Glad, and yet changeable, just like the sea when it plays in sunshine;

Blue was his mantle; of gold his belt, set about with red corals;

White like to wave-foam flow’d his beard, but his hair floated sea-green.

Viking right to the spot steers his snail, and rescues him helpless;

Home to his halls then led he him shiv’ring, and feasted him nobly.

Yet, when his host bade him sleep in peace, light-smiling he answer’d:

“Fair is the wind, and my ship, as thou saw’st, is not to be slighted;

Full this night some hundreds of miles hope I well to sail forward.

Thanks, nathless, for thine offer; ‘tis well meant; would that I only

Had some keepsake to give; but my wealth lies deep ‘mong the sea-waves.

Yet on the shore some present, perchance, thou’lt find in the morning!”

There by daybreak was Viking, when lo! like a sea-eagle darting

Fierce on his prey through the air, flew a dragon-ship right in the haven!

None on board could be seen, not ev’n could a steersman be notic’d,

Yet trac’d the rudder its winding path ‘mong the cliffs and sunk shoal-rocks—

Just as some spirit had dwelt therein. As it near’d the smooth beach-sand,

Reev’d of itself was the sail, no mortal touching the canvas;

Down to the bottom , too, sank the hook’d anchor, ocean’s sands biting.

Mute stood viking and gazed; but then sang the fresh-sporting billows:

“Æger, the rescued, forgets not his debt. See! he gives thee yon dragon!”

Royal the present was; for th; oak-beams, gently inbending,

Join’d were not — as is wont in a ship — but had grown all together.

Dragon-shap’d it lay on the sea; full high o’er the waters

Rose its proud head, while its wide throat flam’d, with red gold thickly cover’d;

Speckled with yellow and blue was the belly; but back toward the rudder

Curv’d its strong-knit tail in a ring, all scaly with silver;

Black were its wings, with edgings of gold; when each one was full-stretch’d,

Flew she with th’ whistling storm for a water; but the eagle came after!

Saw’st thou the vessel with arm’d men fill’d, thou straight-way hadst fancied

Some king’s city was floating past, or some quick-swimming fortress.

Widely renown’d was this ship, of ships most choice in the Northland!

These, and yet more thereto, young Fridthjof heir’d from his father.

Scarce through the North was there found an inheritance richer or larger,

Kings’ sons only excepted — for kings are still the most mighty.

Yet, though not a king’s son, was his temper kingly by nature —

Friendly, an noble, and gentle; thus daily grew he more famous.

Champions twelve, too, had he — gray-haired, and princes in exploits, —

Comrades his father had lov’d, steel-breasted and scarr’d o’er the forehead.

Last on the champions’ bench, quaul-ag’d with Fridthjof, a stripling

Sat, like a rose among wither’d leaves; Bjorn called they the hero —

Glad as a child, but firm like a man, and yet wise as a graybeard;

Up with Fridthjof he’d grown; they had mingled blood with each other,

Foster-brothers in Northman wise; and they swore to continue

Steadfast in weal and woe, each other revenging in battle.

Now ‘mong his champions and crowding guests who had come to the grave-feast,

Fridthjof, a sorrowful host (his eyes full of fast-falling tear-drops),

Drank, as his sires had before, “to his father’s mem’ry;” and thoughtful

Lists to the song of the skalds in his praise — their loud thund’ring drapa.

Then to his father’s seat, now his own, stepp’d he boldly, and sat him

Down ‘mid its Odin and Frey; that is Thor’s own place up in Valhal!