Viking Tales of the North
Fridthjof's Saga
Page 2
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.”
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.
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.”
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.”
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.
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?”
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!”
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.
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.
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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