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Our Fathers' Godsaga : Retold for the Young.

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Viking Tales of the North

Fridthjof's Saga

Canto XIII.

Page 2

XII.

“What! thine own gold bear’st not? — shame!
        Shame! coward-king vile-shrinking;
Angervadil none e’er shall blame
        Blood so base for drinking!

XIII.

“Silence! priests with off’ring-knife,
        Chiefs, yon moonlights dimly!
Noise might cost each wretched life;
        Back! — for my blade thirsts grimly.

XIV.

“Rageful thine eye, white Balder shines;
        Yet, why so anger-swollen?
Yon fair ring thine arm round-twines, —
        Pardon me, but ‘tis stolen!

XV.

“Not sure for thee Volund, smith kept
        Graving that jewel’s wonders!
Violence stole, and the virgin wept.
        Down with all scoundrel plunders!”

XVI.

Brave he pull’d; but fast grown seem’d
        Th’ arm and the ring so curious;
When loos’d at last, where th’ altar gleam’d
        Brightest, the god leapt furious.

XVII.

Hark, that crash! Gnawing gold-tooth’f flame
        Rafter and roof o’er quivers;
Bjorn turns pale as he stands, and shame!
        Fridthjof feels that he shivers.

XVIII.

“Bjorn, release them! Unbar the door,
        Guarding is now all over:
Th’ temple blazes; pour water, pour
        All the sea thereover!”

XIX.

Now from temple and grove and strand,
        Chain-like, they clasp each other;
Billows, wandering from hand to hand,
        Hissing the fires would smother.

XX.

Rain-god like sits Fridthjof there,
        High o’er beams and waters,
All-directing with lordly air,
        Calm ‘mong the hot fire-slaughters.

XXI.

Vain! Fire conquers; rolling past,
        Smoke-clouds whirl, and smelted
Gold on red-hot sands falls fast, —
        Silver plates are melted.

XXII.

All, all’s lost! From half-burn’d hall
        Th’ fire-red cock up-swingeth, — (2)
Sits on the roof, and, with shrilly call
        Flutt’ring, his free course wingeth.

XXIII.

Morning’s winds from the north rush by,
        Heav’nward the fire-wave surges;
Balder’s grove is summer dry,
        Greedy the fierce blaze gorges.

XXIV.

Raging, from branch to branch it flew,
        Still round the goal ne’er closing;
Ah! how fearful that wild light grew,
        Balder’s pyre, how imposing!

XXV.

Hark! how it snaps i’ th’ gaping root;
        See! from the top sparks shower;
‘Gainst Muspel’s sons, the red, what boot
        Man’s art, man’s arm, man’s power?

XXVI.

Fire-seas tumble in Balder’s grove;
        Shoreless the billows wander;
Sun-beams rise, but frith and cove
        Mirror hell’s flame-lights yonder!

XXVII.

T’ ashes soon is the temple burn’d,
        T’ ashes the grove so blooming:
Fridthjof, greif-full, away has turn’d,
        Day o’er his hot tears glooming!

ENDNOTES:

2. See “Norse Mythology,” p. 421 (transcribers note: To have the red cock placed on ones roof was a way of saying that ones roof was set on fire. The red cock represents fire. ) Back

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