A bard from Morvens (3) mountains
        Now sweeps the harp along,
From Glic music-fountains
        Springs sad his hero-song;
But in Norselandic chanteth
        Another, ancient-wise,
He Thorsteins exploits vaunteth,
        and takes the skaldic prize.


XXV.

Now the jarl to ask delighted
        Of northern kinsmen dear,
And Fridthjof all recited
        In words well weighd and clear;
Nor truths just measure broke he,
        Impartial was his doom;
Like queenly Saga spoke he
        In memrys holy room.


XXVI.

When next he all repeated
        On th oceans deeps hed seen,
And how mid waves defeated
        The kings grim imps and been;
The joy the champions proudly,
        Then Angantyr smiles too,
And shouts, rechod loudly,
        His brave adventures drew.


XXVII.

But when his tale he changes
        To Ingborg, his belovd,
How tender-sad she ranges,
        Her grief how noble provd,
Then many a damsel sighing,
        With cheeks on fire, doth stand;
How fain shed press, replying,
        That true-love knights bold hand!


XXVIII.

At last, the young chief ginneth
        His errand to speak about,
And th jarls kind ear he winneth,
        Who patient hears him out:
I tribute-bound was never,
        My people too is free;
Well Bele drink, but ever
        His friends, not subjects, be.


XXIX.

His sons I know not; would they
        Draw taxes from my land,
As all brave princes should, they
        Can ask them sword in hand;
When here, my falchion reckons,
        Thy father yet was dear.
Then with his hand he beckons
        To his daughter sitting near.                


XXX.

Then up that flowr-shoot tender
        Sprang quick from gold-bckd chair,
Her waist was all so slender,
        Her breasts so found and fair.
That little rogue, young Astrild,
        Her dimpled cheeks disclose,
Like butterfly, wind-carried
        To some just-opning rose.

XXXI.

To her virgin bower she speedeth,
        And green-workd purse she brings,
Where many a wild thing treadeth
        In woodland wanderings;
And oer the sea, sail whitning,
        Do silver moonbeams shine;
Its locks are rubies brightning,
        its tassels golden twine.


XXXII.

Her gentle sire has taken
        The purse she thus doth hold,
And fills to th brim, down-shaken,
        With far-off-minted gold:
My welcomes gift I bear thee,
        Be it used as best it may;
But now shall Fridthjof swear me
        All winter here to stay.


XXXIII.

Mood vanquishes all over,
        But not the storm-winds reign.
and Hedj and Ham recover,
        I fear, their strength again ;
Ellide springs not always
        So luckful as before;
Though one weve missd, the billows
        Right many whales ride oer.


XXXIV.

Thus quaffd they there and jested
        Till morn relit her torch,
But that gold wine-cup zested
        A feast, no wild debauch;
At last a brimming bumper
        They drain To Agantyr,
And Fridthjof thus the winter
        Passd out with right good cheer.