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Viking Tales of the North Fridthjof's Saga
Page 3 Slim columns circle with their green embrace. I cannot follow thee. follow? Not— Ah, Fridthjof, 'thou art happy! Thou follow'st none, but art thyself the foremost, Like thy good dragon-ship's high-lifted stem; While at the rudder stands thy will, and steers Thy course with steady hand o'er angry waves. How otherwise, alas! it is with Ing'borg! In other's hands my fate, reposes, and Their prey they slip not, bleed it as it will! Self-sacrifice, and tears, and languishing, And wasting grief— such the king's daughter's freedom! What hinders, then, thy freedom? Bele sits Within his cairn! father's Helge, now; He holds my father's place, and his consent Decides my hand. No! Bele's daughter steals not Her happiness, however near it be. Ah! what were woman, should she burst those bonds With which Allfather fastens to the strong Her weak existence? Some pale water-lily She likens, as on ev'ry light-moved wave It rises, trembles, falls; and o'er its head The seaman's keel its reckless way pursueth, Nor marks that it cuts through her stalk so slender. Such is that lily's destiny; but still, Long as the sands beneath her deep root grasps, The plant her value hath, and borrows dyes From pale relation-stars above, itself star soft-floating on the billowy blue. should she struggle loose, away she drives, wither'd leaf around the desert waters. night just gone — that night how fearful was it! waited thee expectant, and thou cam'st not; night's dark children—gloomy, black-hair'd thoughts, long procession pass'd before mine eye, watchful; burning, and without a tear; Balder's self, the bloodless god, beheld me looks of threat'ning and an angry mien: night just gone, my fate I've well consider'd, firm resolv'd t' abide it. I remain duteous off'ring at my brother's altar. yet 'twas well I heard not, then, thy story islands fabled in the gorgeous clouds, evening's blush is spread unceasing over quiet flower-world, full of peace and love. knows his own heart's weakness? Childhood's dreamings, long all silent, now once more rise up, Low-whisp'ring in mine ear, with voice familiar 'twere a sister's, and as soft and tender some fond lover's when he courts his maid hear you not; I cannot, will not hear you, tempting. voices, once so dearly lov'd. would the South with me, the Northland's daughter? Too pale am I for all its rose-retreats; Its burning sun would parch a soul as mine — Too cold and hueless for its glowing rays. Yes! full of longing would mine eye turn often To yonder pole-star, ever steadfast standing. A heavenly sentinel o'er our fathers' graves. My noble Fridthjof, born his land's defender, Shall never flee inglorious from its shores; His dear-bought fame shall . never cast behind him For aught so worthless as a young girl's love! A life whose golden-threaded days the sun Spins year from year the same, is beautiful; But this eternal oneness woman's soul Alone can please; to man, and most to thee, Life's changeless calm is changeless weariness. Then joys thy proud soul, when the tumbling tempest On foaming courser sweeps o'er ocean's deeps, That so, for life or death, on thin plank riding, Thou mayst contend with danger for thine honor. The beauteous wilderness thou paintest, would, Too, many an unborn exploit slow entomb; And, with thy shield, thy glad, free, dauntless spirit Dark rust would gnaw. . But it shall not be so! Not I, at least, my Fridthjof's name will steal From bard-harp'd songs; not I at least, will quench My hero's glory in its first red dawn. Be wise, dear Fridthjof; heav'n's dread lofty norns Command; let us give way; at least our honor May still be sav'd from out our fortunes' shipwreck For ah! our life's chief bliss is gone forever! We must, must part! Nay! wherefore must we? Is't For that a sleepless night untunes thy spirit? 'Tis that my worth and thine must both be rescued! On man's firm love rests woman's dearest value!
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