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Viking Tales of the North

Fridthjof's Saga

Canto XIX.

Page 2

XI.

“Rest not here, O king! the ground too hard and cold
        a couch would be;
Heavy sleep would follow; rise, regain thy halls, led back
        by me.”
“Sleep,” said Ring, “like the other gods, when least
        expected, comes; my guest
Surely will not grudge hsi host one balmy hour’s un-
        broken rest.”

XII.

Fridthjof now his rich-wrought mantle, lossing, on the
        green turf laid,
And upon this knees secure, his head the white-haired
        monarch staid.
Heroes so, on war-shield pillowed — hushed the battle’s
        wild alarm, —
Peaceful slumber; so rests the infant, cradled on its
        mother’s arm.

XIII.

Calm he sleeps. But hark! a bird, all coal-black, sings
        from yonder bough:
“Haste thee, Fridthjof, slay the dotard! end at once
        your quarrel now!
Take his queen; she’s thine; her sacred kiss of plighted
        troth she gave.
Here no human eye can see thee; silent is the dark,
        deep grave.”

XIV.

Fridthjof listens. Hark! a snow-white bird then sings
        from yonder bough:
“Though no human eye should see thee, Odin’s eye
        would see it. How!
Wouldst thou, scoundrel, murder sleep! shall helpless
        age thy bright sword stain?
Know, whate’er thou winnest, hero-fame at least thou
        wilt not gain.”

XV.

Thus contending, sang the birds: but Fridthjof seized his
        falchion good,
And with horror threw it from him, far into the gloom-
        ful wood;
Down to Nastrand flies the coal-black tempter; but, light
        wings his stay,
Like a harp-tone warbling, hieth the other sunward quick
        away.

XVI.

Straight awakes then the aged sleeper. “Sweet, indeed,
        my rest hath been;
Well they slumber in the shade whom warrior guards
        with war-blade keen.
But where is they war-blade, stranger? lightnings’s brother’s
        left thy side;
Who has parted friends that never from each other should
        divide?”

XVII.

“Little boots it,” answered Fridthjof; “ne’er the North
        I brandless knew;
Sharp, O king, the sword’s tongue is. Yes! words of
        peace it speaks but few.
Imps of darkness haunt the steel, — hell-spirits sprung
        from Niflheim;
Sleep itself they spare not, — and e’en silver locks but
        anger them!”

XVIII.

“Youth I slept not! only would I thus thy hero-soul
        first try,
Fools may th; untried man or sword all fondly trust; so
        will not I!
Thou art Fridthjof! I have known thee since thou first
        my halls didst find;
Ring, though old, has long preceiv’d his clever guest’s
        most secret mind.

XIX.

“Wherefore to my palace creptst thou! — nameless and in
        close disguise?
Wherefore, but to make an aged chieftain’s bride thy
        stolen prize!
Never, Fridthjof, ‘mid glad guests her station honor
        namelss took;
Sun-bright is her shield, — her open face would spurn
        dissembled look.

XX.

“Fame a Fridthjof’s exploits rumored, terror both to gods
        and men;
Desp’rate, careless which, that viking shields would cleave
        or temple bren!
Soon, methought, this chief will march with upborne
        shield against my land;
Soon he came, — but hid in tatters, and a beggar’s staff
        in hand!

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