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Viking Tales of the North

Fridthjof's Saga

Canto XV.

Page 2

XII.

Thus his laws carv’d he out, and fresh exploits each day
        and fresh fame to strange coast-lands he brought;
And his like found he none on the blue-rolling sea, and
        his champions right willing they fought.

XIII.

But himself sat all darkly, with rudder in hand, and
        look’d down on the slow-rocking spray: —
“Deep thou art! Peace perchance in those depths still
        may bloom, but above here all peace dies away.

XIV.

“Is the White God enrag’d, let him take his good sword, —
        I will fall should it so be decreed;
But he sits in you sky, gloomy thoughts sending down, —
        ne’er my soul from their sadness is freed.”

XV.

Yet when battle is near, like the fresh eagle flying,
        his spirit fierce sours with delight;
Loadly thunders his voice, and with clear brow he stands,
        like the light’ner still foremost in fight.

XVI.

Thus from vict’ry to vict’ry he ceaselessly swam, on
        that wide foaming grave all secure;
And fresh islands he saw, and fresh bays in the South,
        till fair winds on to Greekland allure.

XVII.

When its groves he beheld in the green tide reflected,
        its temples in ruin bent low,
Freyja knows what he thought, and the skald, and if e’er
        thou has known how to love, thou wilt know!

XVIII.

“Here our dwelling had been! here’s the isle, here’s the
        land; of this temple my sire oft would tell;
Hither ‘twas, hither ‘twas I invited my maid; — ah! she
        cruel the North lov’d too well!

XIX.

“‘Mong these happy green vales dwells not peace? and
        remembrance, ah! haunts she not columns so fair?
Like the whisp’rings of lovers soft murmur those springs,
        and with bridal-songs birds fill the air.

XX.

“Where is Ingeborg now? Is so soon all forgot — for a
        chief wither’d, gray-hair’d, and old?
I, I cannot forget! Gladly gave I my life yet once more
        that dear form to behold!

XXI.

“And the years have gone by since my own land I saw,
        kingly hall of fair Saga the queen!
Rise there yet so majestic those mountains to heav’n,
        keeps my forefather’s dale its bright green.

XXII.

“On the cairn where my father lies buried, a lime-tree I
        planted, — ah! blooms it there now!
Who its tender shoot guards? Give thy moisture, O
        earth! and thy dews, O thou heaven, give thou!

XXIII.

“Yet why linger I here, on the wave of the stranger? —
        is tribute, is blood, then, my goal?
I have glory sufficient, and beggarly gold, and its bright-
        ness deep scorneth my soul.

XXIV.

“There’s the flag on the mast, to the Northland it points,
        and the North holds the country I love;
Back to northward I’ll steer, and will follow the course
        of the breezes fresh-blowing above.”

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