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!”



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