{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_59689/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_59689","id":"gutenberg_59689","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/59689","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Northmen -- Juvenile literature","Sagas -- Adaptations"],"text":"Produced by D A Alexander, Stephen Hutcheson, and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n(This file was produced from images generously made\navailable by The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                [Illustration: _Frithiof's sea journey_]\n\n                    _Life Stories for Young People_\n\n\n\n\n                           THE FRITHIOF SAGA\n\n\n                     _Translated from the German of\n                           Ferdinand Schmidt_\n\n                                   BY\n                            GEORGE P. UPTON\n\n              _Translator of \"Memories,\" \"Immensee,\" etc._\n\n                        With Four Illustrations\n\n                  [Illustration: A. C. McCLURG & CO.]\n\n                                CHICAGO\n                          A. C. McCLURG & CO.\n                                  1907\n\n                               Copyright\n                          A. C. McClurg & Co.\n                                  1907\n                      Published September 21, 1907\n\n               The University Press, Cambridge, U. S. A.\n\n\n\n\n                          Translator's Preface\n\n\nIceland is the home of the Saga, a form of literature which includes the\ntelling of the story of a hero's life and adventures in a fixed, regular\nform, and which is usually intended for recitation, though the Saga is\nnever set in the customary versified style of poetry. A large number of\nthese Sagas, relating to Iceland, Greenland, North America, and the\nNorse countries, still remain, and among them the Frithiof Saga,\nnarrating the stirring adventures of that hero of the Northland and\nViking of its seas, is one of the most beautiful. Its subject is noble,\nheroic, and free from exaggerated description or overwrought sentiment.\nFrithiof is a splendid type of the old Norse hero, invincible in battle\nupon the land, fearless of Nature's wrath as he sails the seas in his\ndragon ship, impulsive yet just, swift in punishment yet quick in\nforgiveness. The central motives of the Saga are his love for King\nBele's daughter, Ingeborg; the refusal of her brothers to sanction their\nmarriage because the hero is not of royal birth; her unwilling marriage\nto the old King Ring; Frithiof's exile, and his final union with\nIngeborg after the death of her husband and reconciliation with her\nbrother. Interwoven with the narrative itself, which is full of dramatic\nsituations, are some of the old myths, than which none is more beautiful\nthan the death of the gentle god Balder. The very breath of the North\nsweeps through the stately story which the German author has told with\nso much skill. Those who wish to come in closer contact with the Saga\nitself can do so by consulting Bishop Tegner's masterly translation.\n\n                                                                G. P. U.\n\nChicago, June, 1907.\n\n\n\n\n                                Contents\n\n\n  Chapter                                                           Page\n  I Frithiof and Ingeborg                                             11\n  II The Death of Balder                                              15\n  III King Bele and Thorsten                                          26\n  IV Frithiof's Inheritance                                           33\n  V Frithiof's Wooing                                                 40\n  VI King Ring                                                        44\n  VII Frithiof at Chess                                               48\n  VIII Frithiof goes to Ingeborg                                      50\n  IX The Parting                                                      52\n  X Frithiof's Voyage                                                 59\n  XI Frithiof at the Court of Augantyr                                62\n  XII Frithiof's Return                                               68\n  XIII The Burning of the Temple                                      74\n  XIV Frithiof in Exile                                               78\n  XV Frithiof's Viking Life                                           81\n  XVI Frithiof comes to King Ring's Court                             84\n  XVII The Sledge Excursion                                           89\n  XVIII Frithiof's Temptation                                         91\n  XIX Death of King Ring                                              97\n  XX The Election to the Kingdom                                     100\n  XXI The Reconciliation                                             102\n\n\n\n\n                             Illustrations\n\n\n                                                                    Page\n  Frithiof's Sea Journey                                  _Frontispiece_\n  Frithiof's Wooing                                                   42\n  Frithiof's Wrestle                                                  64\n  King Ring's Death                                                   98\n\n\n\n\n                           The Frithiof Saga\n\n\n\n\n                               Chapter I\n                         Frithiof and Ingeborg\n\n\nIn olden times there ruled in Norway a King of great renown called Bele,\nwhose wife died early, leaving him two sons and a daughter. When the\nlatter had reached her sixth year, the King said to Thorsten, his\nbrother-in-arms and lifelong friend, \"My rosebud, Ingeborg, is the joy\nof my heart, but none the less I must send her away and entrust her to\nthe guardianship of Hilding the Wise, so that, far from the turmoil and\ndistractions of a court, the light of true knowledge shall be hers. But\nlest she should miss the companionship of her beloved playfellow, I pray\nthee permit thy son Frithiof to accompany her, that they may be reared\ntogether.\"\n\n\"Gladly will I do so,\" replied Thorsten; \"not alone to honor thy\nrequest, but because I know thou hast my son's welfare also at heart in\nsending him as the companion of thine own child to be taught by the wise\nHilding. My King's will shall be done.\"\n\nHilding's abode lay on the sea-coast, surrounded by gardens and wooded\nhills, and there Ingeborg and Frithiof spent the years of their\nchildhood, faithfully taught and cared for by the good old man. Two rare\nblossoms of the Northland were these children, both richly endowed with\ngifts of mind and body: Ingeborg was like the swelling rosebud within\nwhose heart the promise of the spring lies dreaming, while Frithiof grew\nup tall and strong as a young oak tree crowned with its crest of\nrustling leaves. So blessed by the gods were they with health and beauty\nthat never had their like been seen in all the North. Now listening to\nthe wondrous tales of their wise master, with clear eyes uplifted to\nhis; now racing over the sunny meadows or dancing lightly under the dark\nboughs of the fir trees in the silvery moonlight, they were like the\nLight Fairies, whose appearance betokens blessing and fills the heart\nwith anticipations of joy.\n\nFrithiof was but little older than Ingeborg, and when he first learned\nfrom Hilding to read the Runic signs, it was his delight to teach them\nin turn to his beloved playmate. Ofttimes they would sail out upon the\nwind-tossed sea, and when the shifting of the sail sent foam and spray\ndashing into the boat, Ingeborg would clap her small hands in glee. No\ntree was too high for the bold lad when he wished to capture a nest of\nyoung birds for the King's child; even the osprey's eyrie, high among\nthe rocky crags, was not safe from his daring quest. 'Twas he that found\nfor her the first pale blossoms of the springtime, the first ripe\nstrawberry, the summer's first golden ear of corn. Joyously they\nwandered together in the forest, Frithiof armed to protect his playmate\nin case of need; for he early strove to train himself in all a hero's\nduties.\n\nThus, like a beautiful dream, the happy days of childhood glided by.\nIngeborg blossomed into maidenhood, and Frithiof became a stalwart\nyouth. The King's daughter spent more time in her own chamber now,\nlearning the tasks of women, chief of which was the weaving of garments,\nwhile Frithiof was often abroad with the men in quest of game or booty.\nInheriting not only his father's strength and daring, but also his\ndiscretion and cheerfulness, he was beloved by all and soon aroused the\nwonder of his companions in the chase by the boldness with which he\nwould attack the fiercest beasts, felling them with a blow from his\nspiky club, or piercing them through with the sharp-pronged spear. As in\nearlier days he had been wont to bring his playmate gifts of flowers or\nfruit as greetings of the season, so now he laid at her feet the\ntrophies of his prowess--shaggy bears or grisly wild boars, often\nrevealing upon his body bloody traces of the struggle. Admiringly\nIngeborg's gaze would rest at such times on the young hero, while her\nheart beat fast in terror for his life.\n\nAnd when on cold winter nights they sat together in the great hall by\nthe blazing hearth fire listening to the legends old Hilding told them\nof the gods, or, when the King's daughter would sing of the deeds of\nsome great hero long at rest beneath his grassy mound, she seemed to\nFrithiof like a goddess sent by the great All-Father for a brief space\nto the darksome earth to awaken a foretaste of Valhalla's delights.\n\"Praises of Frigga's golden hair are sung throughout the land,\" he would\nsay to himself, \"but surely it can be no more beautiful than Ingeborg's\nfair tresses.\" And when he gazed into those soft eyes, so full of\nheaven's own light and hue, he doubted Hilding's declaration that the\neyes of the goddess Frigga were the most beautiful in all the world.\n\n\n\n\n                               Chapter II\n                          The Death of Balder\n\n\nAgain the Spring had come. Frigga, the radiant Earth-goddess, had decked\nmeadow, hill, and vale with bloom and verdure, and summoned the various\nwarblers of grove and wood. One mild evening Ingeborg and Frithiof\nrepaired with Hilding to a hillside overlooking the sea and seated\nthemselves on the mossy stones. There, while the waves roared at their\nfeet, the master told them of the gentle god Balder, and how envy and\nmalice brought him to his death.\n\n\"Balder was a son of the all-powerful Odin and the fair Earth-goddess\nFrigga, beautiful as the day and so bright that a shining splendor\nsurrounded him as he traversed the dome of heaven on his white steed,\nswifter than thought. All evil, hatred, and strife were abhorrent to\nhim. Eloquent, wise, mild, and just, he ever sought to promote peace, to\navert misfortune, and to ease pain and sorrow. Sometimes, assuming human\nshape, he would mingle in the combat, but never, even in the heat of\nbattle, did he lift his sword against a mortal. Though the other gods\noften took part in the strife of men, 'twas to do good alone that drew\nBalder to the field of battle. Once on a hot summer's day it chanced\nsome warriors were perishing for want of water; whereupon he thrust his\nspear into the ground, and a cool spring gushed forth, while others\nwelled up wherever his horse's hoofs had trodden. These springs were\ninexhaustible and still exist, surrounded by sacred groves, wherein the\nbeneficent god will be worshipped to the end of time. Equally gentle and\nlovely was his spouse Nanna, and far above the clouds, whither the eye\nof man cannot penetrate, they dwelt in their palace, Silvery Lustre,\nwhere nothing evil or impure can ever enter.\n\n\"Balder was beloved by all the gods and goddesses save only Loke, the\never-evil, who hated him. One night Balder dreamed that some danger\nthreatened his life, and so alarming was this dream that he could not\nshake off its shadow, but sad and heavy-hearted, thought only of\napproaching evil. Sorrow seized not only upon Nanna, his loving wife,\nbut upon all the gods and goddesses, when they learned of the dark\nforebodings that filled Balder's soul. In vain did Odin, his father,\nspend many days and nights in thought; in vain did he take counsel with\nthe other gods and consult his two wise ravens, who see into the past\nand future, as to the nature of the danger that threatened his beloved\nson. At last he determined to undertake the perilous journey to the\nabode of the goddesses of Fate. Rising from his shining throne, he left\nthe palace, mounted his fire-breathing celestial steed that stood before\nthe door, and, followed by the two ravens and the two wolves who are his\nconstant companions, flew like lightning through the space betwixt\nheaven and earth and soon reached the path that leads to the kingdom of\nthe pale goddess, Hel, in the terrible underworld.\n\n\"Far down below Valhalla, the golden palace of the gods, whither heroes\nare borne by Odin's battle-maidens, the Valkyrs, on their winged steeds,\nlies the dread realm of shadows where abides the inexorable Hel. Loke is\nher father; her mother--the giantess Angurboda, is a sister of the\nfrightful wolf Fenris and the earth-enveloping serpent. Woe, thrice woe\nto him who descends into the cold mist-kingdom of the goddess of death!\nMisery is her Hall, Ruin her Threshold, Pining Sickness her Bed, and\nDanger the Curtains thereof. Sloth is her Thrall, and Despair her\nHandmaiden. She eats from the Dish Hunger with the Knife of Famine.\n\n\"To this terrible place Odin now took his way. The path, which no living\nman had ever trodden, led between frightful abysses and icy crags. But\nhe heeded not these terrors nor the furious yelping and snapping of the\ndeath-hounds, intent only on learning what evil threatened his favorite\nson. At last he reached the spot where dwelt the goddesses of Fate, and\nat the first gray Rune-stone he swung himself from his steed. Below it\nhad lain for a thousand years the Norn who reads the future; while about\nthe desolate tomb the wind moaned through the leafless branches and\nwhirled aloft the parching sand. Odin drew his sword and inscribed\nthrice with it a Runic sentence in the sand. Then he shouted thrice the\nRunic call which, uttered by the lips of a god, has power to wake the\ndead within their graves. In dull, hollow tones a voice answered from\nthe depths:\n\n  What mystic spell of sternest might\n  Penetrates the dungeon's night?\n  Stirs me from my sleep of old?\n  Who art thou, O stranger bold?\n  Go! let me rest, for here below\n  Through Winter's snows and Summer's glow,\n  Through dripping dew and streaming rain,\n  A thousand years I now have lain.\n  Ruthless thou stirrest the dead's deep rest--\n  Who mayst thou be, thou stranger guest?\n\n\"And Odin answered:\n\n  A wanderer I, unknown my name;\n  A warrior's son, untold my fame;\n  Of the upper world I would not know,\n  But fain would seek of those below.\n  For whom is the glittering table spread?\n  For whom prepared the golden bed?\n\n\"Again the hollow tones responded:\n\n  Sawest thou not in beaker bright\n  Draught of sweet mead, foaming light?\n  O'er it hangs the golden shield\n  Warrior's arm no more shall wield!\n  Balder's coming these betoken;\n  Balder's death doom hath been spoken!\n\n  This rede reluctant have I told--\n  Now get thee gone, thou stranger bold.\n  Leave the weary to her rest\n  And come no more, whate'er thy quest.\n\n\"Down in the abyss the mists rolled and parted, permitting Odin for an\ninstant to gaze into the joyless realm of death, and he saw that all was\nindeed made ready to receive his beloved son. With the tears starting to\nhis eyes he mounted his steed and turned sadly homeward. Loud cries of\nwoe broke from the waiting gods and goddesses when Odin told them the\nsaying of the Norn. Vainly they sought some means by which the doom of\ntheir favorite might be averted, till at last Frigga bethought her of a\nplan, which was hailed with joy by all. As mistress of the earth, she\nbound by oath everything that existed thereon, fire and water, iron and\nall the other metals, rock and soil, bush and tree, all disease or\npoison, with all created beings of the earth, the air, and the\nwater,--not to harm her son. Alone of the tender mistletoe that hangs\nfrom the bough, she took no oath, for from that she feared nothing.\n\n\"Deeming their favorite safe from harm, the gods in their joy began to\nsport with him. Some flung sharp-pointed spears at him, and lo! they\nfell harmless to the ground. Others smote his uncovered head with their\nkeen blades, yet not a hair of his head was injured. Bright and laughing\nas a fair spring morning, the god stood in their midst, catching the\nhissing darts and lances in his hands. Their joyous cries at last\nreached the ears of Loke, whose only pleasure it was to awaken strife\nand discontent within the hearts of gods and men, and he hastened\nthither to blight, if it might be, these heaven-born flowers of joy.\nTaking the form of an aged dame with a staff in her trembling hand, he\napproached the goddess Frigga, and said:\n\n\"'Tell me, I pray thee, O watchful Earth-mother, wherefore the gods are\nglad, so that I may share their joy.'\n\n\"Frigga replied: 'All nature has sworn to me to do no harm to my son\nBalder. His life was in great peril, but now shall the Norn's rede be\nbrought to naught, nor shall he descend into the kingdom of pale Hel.'\n\n\"But Loke asked: 'Didst thou take oath of everything upon the earth?'\n\n\"And Frigga answered: 'Of all save the tender mistletoe that grows east\nof Valhalla: from that surely there is naught to fear.'\n\n\"Now was Loke rejoiced, for mistletoe causes the death of the tree from\nwhich it draws its life. Slipping softly out from the gates of Valhalla,\nhe hastened to where it grew, and, breaking it off, fashioned from the\ntough stem a dart which he sharpened to the keenest point. Then, as the\nold woman, he again joined the circle of the gods still busy with their\nsports. Perceiving Hoder, the blind god, who stood apart listening to\nhis companion's joyous cries but unable to share their sports, he drew\nnear and said to him:\n\n\"'Why dost thou too not hurl the spear or speed the dart?'\n\n\"'Alas! How can I?' replied Hoder. 'Were not the light gone from my\neyes, gladly would I also do honor to Balder.'\n\n\"'Nay, then, that thou shalt,' said Loke. 'Take thy bow and this dart; I\nwill guide its flight for thee.'\n\n\"Hoder did as he was bid, and down sank Balder lifeless to the ground.\n\n\"This was the greatest misfortune which had ever befallen the gods in\nValhalla. For a space they stood horror-stricken, gazing at the corpse\nof the gentle god. Then the vaulted halls echoed to their cries of woe.\nBeyond all words was their grief and anguish. At length they bethought\nthem to seek the author of the evil deed; but vengeance was beyond their\npower, for Odin's palace is a sanctuary. Moreover, Loke had vanished.\nWith sighs and lamentations they bore the beloved dead to the seashore,\nwhere, drawn up on rollers, stood Balder's ship. On this his body was to\nbe burned. But all the efforts of the gods were powerless to stir the\nmighty vessel from its place; whereupon they summoned the giantess\nHyrrocken (Fire Whirlwind) to their aid. A rushing sound was heard as\nshe came with streaming hair, riding a great wolf bridled with a\nserpent.\n\n\"Laying her mighty hands upon the ship she pushed it into the sea with\nsuch force that sparks flew from the rollers. Seized with rage and\nchagrin at this, Thor lifted his hammer to shatter the head of the\nwitch, but the other gods hastened to pacify him, and then a fresh\nmisfortune befell. The heart of Balder's blooming wife Nanna burst with\nits load of sorrow, and she sank lifeless into the arms of Frigga. The\nbodies of the youthful pair thus united by death were laid upon the\nfuneral pyre that had been raised within the ship, and consumed amid the\nlamentations of all the gods. This is the story of Balder's death, which\nbrought sorrow and mourning into Odin's halls of joy.\"\n\nWith rapture Ingeborg and Frithiof had listened to old Hilding's tale,\nwhile far in the distance they heard the rumbling of Thor's chariot, in\nwhich the God of Thunder rides upon the clouds, and saw the flickering\nlights that follow the blows of his hammer. Tears glistened in\nIngeborg's eyes, and even Frithiof's heart was moved. Presently they\narose and turned their faces homeward. Ingeborg retired to her chamber,\nwhile Frithiof and Hilding seated themselves on cushions before a table\nupon which burned a taper.\n\nSuddenly Frithiof spoke: \"Terrible indeed must be the abode of the\ngoddess Hel; yet gladly would I die and descend thither could I but know\nthat Ingeborg would mourn for me as Nanna mourned for Balder!\"\n\nHilding was amazed at this speech.\n\n\"Alas! my son,\" he said, \"can it be that thou art cherishing a love for\nIngeborg? Never can it bring thee happiness. Bethink thee! King Bele's\nancestors are descended from the gods, while thou art but the son of a\nyeoman. From the sons of princes will Bele choose a son-in-law, nor\nmayst thou ever hope to wed his child.\"\n\nFrithiof laughed and his eyes flashed as he answered, \"The gods take no\nheed of rank. With them valor is all. They will spurn him who fails in\ncourage, even though he be of their own blood; but him who strives with\nall his soul to imitate them in godlike deeds they will hold in honor.\nThe fame I have already won for myself by slaying the beasts of the\nforest shall count as much for me as if my ancestral line stretched up\nto Odin's halls!\"\n\n\"Alas for this love of thine!\" cried Hilding. \"I fear me 'twill bear\nthee naught but thorns. My old eyes were dim that I saw not what\nmischief was brewing.\"\n\n\"Nay, father, say not so!\" answered Frithiof. \"Never till this day have\nI thought to win Ingeborg for my wife. 'Tis but now my heart hath\nrevealed its yearnings for her and her alone in all the world. But I\nswear to thee by all the gods that never shall her image be banished\nthence. If need be, my sword shall be my wooer. Aye! I would contend for\nher with the Thunder-God himself; nor will I give her up so long as life\nshall last. Yet of this I will say naught to her father, but sue for her\nin due form after the manner of our forefathers.\"\n\nAs Frithiof thus spoke, Ingeborg sat in her chamber, her thoughts also\nbusy with him. In his form she seemed to see the fair young god Balder,\nand prayed the gods to guard the noble youth and grant him fame and\nhonor.\n\n\n\n\n                              Chapter III\n                         King Bele and Thorsten\n\n\nKing Bele and Thorsten, his faithful old brother-in-arms, were now bowed\nwith the weight of years, like two ruined temples upon whose walls are\ngraven runes of wisdom still powerful to stir the hearts of reverent\nbeholders.\n\nOne day the King said to Thorsten: \"My friend, the evening of life draws\non; no longer has the mead its wonted flavor, and heavy grows the helm\nupon my weary head. The world grows dim before my eyes, but clear and\nbright toward me streams the light of Valhalla. Therefore I have\nsummoned our sons hither. As we have ever stood fast by each other, so\nit is my wish that they should do. With this and other matters I would\ncharge the young eagles ere my lips are sealed by death.\"\n\nThe three youths soon entered the royal hall, Helge, the eldest first.\nPale and gloomy of countenance was he, as if the terrors of the\ndeath-kingdom had set their seal upon him. With blood-stained hands,\nfresh from the sacrificial grove he came, for he was wont to tarry\nthere, communing with seers and soothsayers. Behind him followed\nHalfdan, his brother, whose bright locks framed a face noble, indeed, of\nfeature but weak and effeminate in expression. The sword at his side\nseemed worn but in jest, and he looked like some fair maid who had\nsportively donned the garb of a hero. Last came Frithiof, a blue mantle\nhanging from his shoulders and taller by a head than his companions. As\nthe three stood before the King, it was like the bright noonday between\nrosy morn and dusky night.\n\nThen the King began: \"My end is nigh, O sons, wherefore I charge ye,\ngovern the land in harmony; for union is like the lance-ring, without\nwhich the strength of the lance is lost. Let force stand guard before\nthe country's gate; but within its boundaries cherish the holy blossoms\nof peace. Lift not your swords save against the foe. Let your shields be\nthe safeguard of the peasant's home. A foolish prince is he who\noppresses his own people; for as their strength is, so is his own. The\nleafy crown of a tree whose sapless trunk is rooted in bare rock soon\nwithers. Four pillars of stone support the dome of heaven; the throne\nrests only upon one, the law. Woe to the land where violence reigns; for\nthereby shall both ruler and people perish.\n\n\"The gods, O Helge, do indeed dwell in temples, but not in them alone.\nSo far as voice can reach, so far as the sun's golden beams can\npenetrate, or the thoughts of man can fly, so wide are the halls of\ntheir boundless sanctuaries. The blood of sacrificial victims oft\ndeceives; runes, howsoever deeply graven, sometimes prove false; but\nupon a just and upright heart, O Helge, Odin hath inscribed runes which\ngod and man may trust. As flowers adorn the brazen shield, so doth\ngentleness become strength. It is not Winter, but balmy Spring, that\nopens the bud of life. Make to yourself true friends! A friendless\nchief, be he ever so mighty, is like a tree whose bark has been stripped\naway by storms; but he who is blessed with true friendship is like the\nforest giant, shielded from tempests by the companions that surround it.\nBoast not of thy ancestors' deeds and honors. What avails the heritage\nof a mighty bow which thou hast neither the strength nor the skill to\nbend? The fame of thy sires rests with them in the grave: in its own\nwaves the rushing stream flows onward to the sea!\" Then turning to his\nsecond son the King continued: \"Thou too, O Halfdan, hear my words and\ntreasure them in thy heart. A pleasant wit is the adornment of the wise;\nbut idle chatter befits none, least of all a prince's son. Honey is\nsweet; but without hops no mead can be brewed. Put steel into thy sword,\nHalfdan, and earnestness into thy play! Never yet lived there man who\nknew too much, however famed for wisdom; but countless is the number of\nthose who know too little. Disregarded at the feast sits the fool who\nholds the seat of honor by right of birth alone; 'tis to the wise man\nthe guests lend ear, however lowly be his seat. Choose not every man to\nbe thy blood-brother: an empty house stands open to all who pass; the\nrich man's door is barred. Entrust thy confidence to but one; what is\nknown to three is known to all the world.\"\n\nThe old King ceased, and Thorsten arose. \"To permit thee, King Bele, to\nwander alone through Odin's halls, befits not one who hath ever been thy\ncomrade upon earth. Together we have shared life's changes, and in death\nmethinks we shall not be parted.\"\n\nThen to Frithiof his son, he said: \"The years have whispered many a\ncounsel in my ear for thee, my son. As Odin's birds hover about the\nburial mound, so do the teachings of experience linger on the lips of\nage. This above all else lay thou to heart: honor the gods. From them\nalone spring all blessing and prosperity, even as it is they who send\nthe storm-wind and the life-giving sun-rays. They gaze into the heart's\nmost secret depths, whither no man's eye can penetrate. Avoid evil: long\nyears must oft do penance for one hour's sin. Obey the King: one must be\nlord over all if the land would prosper; the night hath many lights; the\nday but one; willingly should the better man do homage to the best.\n\n\"One handle only hath the sword; he who grasps it elsewhere wounds his\nhand. Strength is a gift of the gods; but without judgment, force is of\nsmall avail. The bear has the strength of twelve men, yet he is slain by\none. Against the sword-thrust hold the shield; against violence, the\nlaw. Guard thy heart from pride; few are moved to fear thereby, but all\nto hate. The more arrogant thou growest, the nearer is thy fall. Many\nhave I seen soar high, who now must go on crutches. Praise not the day\nbefore its end, the mead before 'tis drunk, nor the counsel before 'tis\nproved. Youth is prone to trust the lightest word; but battle tests the\nvalue of a blade, and friendship is tried by need.\n\n\"Trust neither the ice of a night nor the snows of Spring. It is true of\nall men that strength of body and mind must pass away, but the fame of\nan upright man lives on forever. Therefore, O my son, resolve only what\nis noble, do only what is right.\"\n\nSo spake the aged heroes, whose sage warnings are still passed from\nmouth to mouth in the Northland. They further charged their sons to\nperpetuate the friendship that had bound them together, through life, in\nweal and woe.\n\n\"Ever back to back we stood when danger threatened,\" said King Bele,\n\"and if it came still closer, then with one shield we met it. Hold fast\ntogether as one man, ye three, and never shall the Northland see your\novermatch; for strength bound to kingly rank and power is like the steel\nrim that encircles the shield of gold. Fail not to greet for me my fair\nrose Ingeborg, who in peace and quiet hath bloomed as becomes a royal\nmaiden. Shield her well with brotherly love and loyalty, that no rude\ntempest bear away my tender flower. Be thou a father to her, Helge;\nguard her as your own child, yet forget not that harsh constraint will\noft revolt a noble heart, which by gentleness may easily be guided in\nthe path of virtue and of custom. Let our weary bodies be laid to rest\nbeneath two grave-mounds, on either side of the stream, that its rushing\nwaters may chant for us eternal praises of the heroes. Oft at the\nmidnight hour, when the pale moon sheds her silvery splendors and the\ncooling dews descend upon our mounds, shall thou and I, my Thorsten,\ndiscourse of olden days across the flood, and our voices will mingle\nwith the murmuring of the waves. And now, dear sons, farewell! farewell!\nLeave us in peace, that far from the court we may prepare ourselves to\nenter into the glories of Valhalla.\"\n\n\n\n\n                               Chapter IV\n                         Frithiof's Inheritance\n\n\nThe two aged heroes died as they had hoped, within a short time of each\nother, and were buried as King Bele had bidden, the two princes being\ndeclared joint heirs to the throne by decree of the people; while\nFrithiof took possession of his heritage, Framnas. His lands were on the\ncoast, and extended for three miles in each direction. Forests of birch\ncrowned the mountain tops, whose slopes were covered with golden barley\nand waving rye, growing to the height of a man. Lakes teeming with fish\nmirrored the wooded heights. Through the forests, threaded with rushing\nstreams, roamed noble stags, proud and stately as kings. On the rich\nmeadows herds of cattle with sleek glossy hides cropped the green sward;\nwhile here and there roved flocks of sheep, like fleecy cloudlets slowly\ndrifting across the blue vault of heaven. Ranged in two rows, twelve\npairs of fiery coursers pawed impatiently in their stalls; shod with\nshining steel were their hoofs, their manes knotted with red.\n\nThe great drinking-hall was so spacious that six hundred guests would\nscarcely fill it. Round the wall extended a table of polished oak, and\non either side of the high-seat images of the gods were skilfully carved\nfrom elm wood, one representing the All-Father Odin, the other Frey, who\nrules over the rain and sunshine. Over the high-seat where Thorsten had\nsat for so many years a glossy black bearskin, with scarlet jaws and the\nclaws tipped with silver, was thrown. Midway of the hall was the great\nhearth of smoothly polished stone, whence the dancing flames shot\nceaselessly upward; and suspended around the walls, helm and shield and\nsword glittered in the reflection of the blaze. Rich indeed was the\ndwelling: abundance everywhere met the eye,--crowded presses,\nwell-filled cellars and store-rooms; while many a jewel, spoil of many a\nconquest, lay hidden in close-locked chests.\n\nBut the three most precious possessions of the house were famed\nthroughout the land. Of these the first was a sword, called Angurvadel,\nor Brother of Lightning. Forged by dwarfs in some far Eastern land,\nFrithiof's ancestors had wrought with it many heroic deeds. The hilt was\nof hammered gold, and the blade was covered with strange runes, the\nmeaning of which was unknown save to those who forged it in the distant\nOrient. When Frithiof drew it from the sheath, it flashed like the\nlightning or the streaming Northern Lights. Moreover, a magic power\nbelonged to this wondrous heirloom: so long as peace ruled the land the\nrunes on the blade gleamed dull and pale, but when war prevailed they\nburned red as the comb of a fighting cock.\n\nNext to this sword in renown was an arm-ring of pure gold, the work of\nhalting Vaunlund, the Vulcan of the North. Graved on it were the names\nof the holy gods and their castles, with the signs of the changing\nseasons, while crowning the circlet, as the sun crowns the heavens, was\na splendid ruby. This ring had long been an heirloom of the house and\nhad once been stolen by the robber Sote, who roved the seas pillaging\nand destroying. News came at last to Thorsten that Sote had caused\nhimself to be buried with all his treasures in a walled-up mound on the\nshores of Britain; yet there his spirit found no rest, but haunted the\nplace as a spectre. Forthwith Thorsten resolved to seek this ghostly\nvisitant, and with Bele, who offered to accompany him, took ship and\nsailed away to the shore of Britain, where they soon found Sote's place\nof burial. Like a sunken palace was the grave-mound, over which lay\npiled up vast heaps of earth and ruined stonework. Thorsten and Bele\npeered through a chink of the doorway into the vaulted depths. There\nstood the black viking ship, and high up on the mast squatted a grisly\nshape wrapped in a blue flaming mantle, its staring eyeballs rolling,\nwhile it vainly endeavored to scour the blood stains from a rusty sword.\nAll about lay heaps of gold, and on the arm of the phantom gleamed\nThorsten's precious heirloom, the stolen arm-ring.\n\nBele whispered to Thorsten, \"Let us go down together and fight with this\nfiery spectre!\"\n\nBut half angrily Thorsten answered, \"Nay, one against one was the custom\nof our fathers; alone will I strive with it.\"\n\nLong they contended as to which should first encounter that ghastly foe,\nbut the lot fell to Thorsten. One blow of his spear burst in the door,\nand he descended into the vault, while, shield before him and sword in\nhand, King Bele listened without. Wild chantings he heard at first, like\nsome magic spell, then loud clashing sounds, as of swords crossed in\nconflict. Then came a horrible scream, followed by instant silence, and\nout staggered Thorsten, pale and distraught; but on his arm he bore the\nring. Never in after days would he relate what had passed in those awful\ndepths, and when questioned would turn away shuddering. But he was often\nwont to say, \"Truly, 'twas dearly bought, this arm-ring. But once in my\nlife have I trembled, and that was when I took it!\"\n\nLast of the three family treasures was the good ship \"Ellida.\"\nFrithiof's ancestor, Wiking, so it was said, returning once from a\nforay, discovered on his own shores a shipwrecked man. Tall he looked\nand nobly formed, with an open countenance, whose expression was\nconstantly changing like the glancing of waves in the sunlight.\nSea-green floated his hair, white as wave-foam his beard. A blue mantle\nenveloped his form, and the golden belt he wore was set with corals.\nSteering directly to the spot, Wiking rescued the unfortunate, took him\nto his home, and feasted him right nobly. But when at night the stranger\nwas offered a bed he shook his head, smiling:\n\n\"Fair is the wind and my ship a good one,\" he said, \"and many a mile I\nhope to leave behind me ere the break of day. Naught but thanks have I\nto offer thee in return for thy hospitality, for my wealth lies deep\nbeneath the ocean wave. Yet in the morning it may be thou wilt find some\ngift from me upon the shore.\"\n\nAt daybreak Wiking hastened to the shore, and lo! with the swiftness of\nthe sea-eagle darting upon its prey there came flying into the haven one\nof the warships commonly known as dragons. Not a soul was to be seen on\nboard, neither steersman nor rowers; yet unerringly the rudder guided\nits winding course amid rocks and shoals. As it neared the land, the\nsails furled themselves, the anchor fell, and the slender vessel rested\nquietly upon the sandy beach. As Wiking stood gazing in astonishment at\nall this, voices sounded from the dancing waves. They chanted:\n\n  The man thou didst rescue and shelter\n  Was \u00c6gir, the lord of the sea;\n  He forgets not his debt. See--yon dragon\n  He sendeth as token to thee.\n\nRoyal, indeed, was the gift of the sea-god. The solid beams of the ship\nwere not joined in the usual way, but grown together. Long and\ndragon-shaped it lay upon the water, the head reared high, wide jaws\ngleaming red with gold, the body speckled with blue and gold, and ending\nat the rudder in a coiling tail covered with silver scales. Black were\nthe sails, with edgings of gold, and when each was full stretched, the\nship flew like the storm wind, swifter than the sea-eagle.\n\nWith all these treasures and more besides, Frithiof, next to the two\nkings, was the richest man in all the land. Kingly of nature was he, if\nnot by birth, and gentle and noble in word and deed. Twelve mighty\nchampions had he ever beside him, tried comrades of his dead father.\nAmong these graybeards, like a rose set in a wreath of withered leaves,\nwas a youth called Bjorn, joyous as a child, yet with the strength of\nmanhood and the wisdom of age. Frithiof had grown up with him, and\ntogether they had sworn blood-brotherhood.\n\nSorrowfully amid these heroes sat Frithiof in the high-seat draining the\nmead horn at his father's grave-feast, after the custom of his\nancestors, while with a heavy heart he listened to the thundering\nhero-songs sounded in praise of the departed.\n\n\n\n\n                               Chapter V\n                           Frithiof's Wooing\n\n\nEach day the great hall echoed to the sound of harpstrings and rang with\npraises of the great deeds of his sires, but naught could rouse Frithiof\nfrom his melancholy. Once more the Spring awoke with smiles; the blue\nsea was flecked with swelling sails of ships, and still his gloom\nremained unbroken. His thoughts ever dwelt on the happy days at\nHilding's abode, when the King's child was his beloved companion.\n\nAt last Bjorn went to him and said: \"Why does Frithiof sit like a\nwounded eagle in its eyrie? What is amiss with thee, my friend? Surely\nthou hast no lack of lands or goods; song and harp sound for thee by\nnight and day; the mead horn passes from hand to hand. But vainly thy\ngood steed stamps in his stall; vainly the hooded falcon screams for\nprey. See how 'Ellida' strains at her cable and spreads her wings,\nimpatient to be free!\"\n\nThen Frithiof clasped his friend's hand and, shaking off his sorrow,\nembarked with his comrades in the dragon, which was soon speeding onward\nthrough the foaming waves.\n\nHelge and Halfdan were sitting on their father's grave-mound near the\nsea, holding judgment for the people, when \"Ellida\" approached. Frithiof\nlanded with his men and, entering the circle of warriors, thus addressed\nthe two kings:\n\n\"I stand here before ye, O Kings! as suitor for the hand of Ingeborg.\nSurely your dead father would have smiled upon our union, since 'twas by\nhis wish that we grew up together under Hilding's guidance, like two\nsaplings with branches intertwined, whose tops Frigga winds about with\nsilver thread. Of no royal race am I, 'tis true, but the fame of my\nsires is ofttimes sung in royal halls, as well ye know. Easily might I\nwin for myself a kingdom and wear the golden circlet on my brow; but\n'tis my choice rather to dwell in the land of my birth, my sword ever\nready to defend the throne or the hut of the poor. On King Bele's mound\nwe stand; in the depths below he heareth and speaketh for me--'Join ye\nthe hands of Frithiof and Ingeborg!'\"\n\nFrowning darkly, Helge rose and scornfully replied: \"Not for a peasant's\nson is our sister destined; none but a prince may hope to win her. Thou\nart called the mightiest hero in all the Northland; let that content thy\npride, and aspire not to the hand of a maiden whose forefathers sprung\nfrom Odin himself. My kingdom needs not thy service; that shall be our\nown care. But if thou wouldst have a place at court among my hired\nwarriors, that I will not deny thee.\"\n\nFrithiof laughed grimly. \"I be thy vassal? Nay--I am a man for myself,\neven as was my father. Out, Angurvadel, from thy sheath!\"\n\nBright flashed the blade in the sunlight, the runes glowing fiery red.\n\"Now, Angurvadel, let us see if any shall deny that thou at least art\nhigh-born and noble! As for thee, King Helge, stood we not upon this\nsacred mound, I would smite thee to the dust! Take heed, hereafter, that\nthou come not too near my blade!\"\n\nWith one blow Frithiof clove in twain Helge's golden shield, that hung\nupon an oak tree, and the two halves fell with a crash that awakened\nhollow echoes from the vault below.\n\n\"Well struck, my sword!\" cried Frithiof; \"hide now thy gleam and dream\nthou of exploits more noble!\"\n\n                  [Illustration: _FRITHIOF'S wooing_]\n\nTerror seized Helge and his followers, and all looked on silently while\nFrithiof returned to his ship and was borne swiftly away over the water\nout to the deep blue sea.\n\n\n\n\n                               Chapter VI\n                               King Ring\n\n\nThere reigned at this time in the far North a King named Ring, no longer\nyoung, but gentle and kindly as Balder himself, and sage as Mimir, who\nguards the fount of Wisdom. His realm was peaceful as a grove of the\ngods. The greenwood never echoed to the clash of arms, nor were the\ncornfields trampled by the hoofs of battle steeds. Justice held sway\nupon the Seat of Judgment about which the people gathered to hold their\nTing, or general assembly, where each man had a voice in the affairs of\nthe kingdom. Thither came many a white-sailed vessel, bringing treasures\nfrom a hundred coasts, in exchange for the country's rich abundance.\nWisely and well had King Ring guided the destinies of his people for\nmore than thirty years, and prayers for his welfare ascended daily to\nOdin's throne.\n\nOne day the King sat with his warriors in the royal hall. Long was the\nfeast, and many a horn of foaming mead was drained; but at last he\npushed back his gold chair from the board, while all the chiefs arose to\ndo honor to the words of their lord. Sighing deeply, he began:\n\n\"My noble Queen was taken, as ye know, from out these mists of earth,\nand now in Frigga's heavenly bower sits enthroned in purple robes.\nNaught remains to me but the flower-decked grave-mound where she lies.\nShe was the treasure of my life. But my babes suffer for a mother's\ncare; the country lacks a queen. King Bele, who was often wont to be our\nhonored guest, now also shares Valhalla's joys; but he hath left a\ndaughter, as fair, they say, as the lily and the rose in one, and her I\nchoose to be my spouse. 'Tis true that she is young and like the Spring,\nwhile Winter's frost has touched my locks with gray; but if it so be\nthat she can trust an upright heart and nourish affection for helpless\nchildhood in her breast, then will Autumn offer to the Spring its\nthrone. Take gold from the vault-rooms, therefore, and gems and costly\napparel from the chests, and go ye to Ingeborg's brothers with my suit.\nAlso let minstrels accompany you, that they may assist your wooing with\nsong and harpstring.\"\n\nA band of chosen warriors set out without delay and, reaching the Court\nof King Bele's sons, made known their errand. Three days they waited for\nan answer, while Helge, instead of taking wise counsel on the matter,\noffered up horses and falcons on the sacrificial stone and searched the\nentrails to discover the will of the gods. But on the fourth day, Ring's\nmessengers demanded an answer; whereupon Helge, deluded by the signs he\nhad perceived, curtly rejected the monarch's suit and the giddy Halfdan\nadded jestingly:\n\n\"'Tis pity our feastings must have an end! Had King Graybeard but come\nhither with you, truly I myself would now have aided him to mount his\nhorse!\"\n\nSuppressing their wrath, the envoys returned to their master with King\nHelge's answer; nor did they fail to relate the affront that had been\noffered them by Halfdan.\n\n\"An evil hour shall it be for them, that sees King Graybeard on their\nshores!\" cried Ring, as he smote the great war-shield that hung upon a\nlinden tree in the castle courtyard. Swift throughout the land sped the\nsummons to war, and soon a host of warriors had assembled. The haven was\nfilled with dragon ships, and countless helm-plumes nodded in the\nbreeze.\n\nWhen the message of war reached King Helge, he was seized with fear, and\nhastily despatched his sister Ingeborg to Balder's temple, which was\nheld sacred all over the Northland. None had ever dared to violate this\nsanctuary, and there he deemed her safe from King Ring and his warriors.\n\n\n\n\n                              Chapter VII\n                           Frithiof at Chess\n\n\nFrithiof was sitting with Bjorn in his hall at Framnas before a splendid\nchessboard, the squares of which were alternate gold and silver, when\nHilding entered. Greeting the old man kindly, Frithiof led him to the\nhigh-seat and bade him refresh himself with a horn of mead till he and\nhis adroit adversary should have finished their match. But without\nwaiting, Hilding began:\n\n\"I come on behalf of the two princes, Helge and Halfdan, to pray you to\nmake peace with them. King Ring has declared war and they fear for the\nkingdom.\"\n\n\"Take heed, Bjorn,\" cried Frithiof, \"thy King is in danger! A pawn,\nindeed, may save him; pawns are lightly sacrificed!\"\n\nHilding, who well understood the double meaning of these words,\ncontinued:\n\n\"Let not thine anger master thee, my son! Against King Ring the princes\nmay be weak; against thy single arm 'twere otherwise.\"\n\nFrithiof smiled.\n\n\"So thou dost threaten my castle, Bjorn!\" he said. \"But rest thee\nassured it will be well guarded.\"\n\n\"In Balder's Grove,\" began Hilding once more, \"Ingeborg doth weep the\nwhole day long. Will not even her prayers move thee?\"\n\n\"Ha! Bjorn, wouldst thou attack the Queen, dearer to me than life from\nchildhood's hour? The most precious piece in all the game is she, and\nher I will save, cost what it may!\"\n\n\"Wilt thou give me no answer, nor yet end thy game?\" asked Hilding,\nindignantly.\n\nThen Frithiof arose, and grasping his old master's hand, said earnestly:\n\"Nay, be not angry with me, father, but hearken to my firm resolve. Say\nto Bele's sons that never will he whose honor they have tarnished be\ntheir vassal.\"\n\nHilding was silent for a space before he replied: \"I must e'en perform\nmy duty; yet neither can I blame thee for thy resolution. Odin will\nguide all for the best!\"\n\nThen mounting his horse, he rode thoughtfully away.\n\n\n\n\n                              Chapter VIII\n                       Frithiof goes to Ingeborg\n\n\nWhen the sun had sunk low in the west, Frithiof said to Bjorn: \"Let us\naway, for this night I must speak with Ingeborg.\"\n\n\"How!\" cried his friend, \"wouldst thou violate Balder's Grove?\"\n\n\"Surely 'twill be no violation of Balder's sanctuary if I do but seek in\nall honor and propriety to hold converse with the King's daughter, my\nplay-fellow and companion from our infancy!\"\n\nBjorn said no more, and \"Ellida\" soon brought them to the holy grove,\none side of which was bounded by the sea. By that way it was forbidden\nto enter, under penalty of death, while from the land none but the\npriests might grant entrance through the door in the high wall to those\nwishing to visit the grove and temple. Paying no heed to this\nprohibition, Frithiof boldly entered the grove from the shore and\nsuddenly appeared before Ingeborg, to her mingled joy and terror.\n\n\"Fear not, dear Ingeborg,\" he cried, clasping her hand, \"that my\npresence here will profane Balder's sanctuary. Nay, rather let us go\ninto the temple and implore his aid and guidance.\"\n\nIn silence the lovers entered the temple, and not till the dawn began to\nbreak did they emerge and seek the shore once more.\n\n\"Now have we plighted our troth before the gentle god,\" said Frithiof,\n\"and our love for each other shall therefore be publicly made known.\"\n\nThereupon the maiden besought Frithiof to forget what had passed and be\nreconciled to her brother.\n\n\"Thy words accord with that which Balder hath implanted in my breast,\nfair maid,\" replied Frithiof, \"wherefore I will appear at the Ting and\nbefore all men offer to thy brother Helge the hand of peace. Soon shalt\nthou hear thereof.\"\n\nAnd with these words they parted.\n\n\n\n\n                               Chapter IX\n                              The Parting\n\n\nOft the next day did Ingeborg turn her footsteps toward the sea, and at\nlast as she neared the wooded shore once more, the sails of the swiftly\napproaching dragon glimmered through the branches of the trees. It\nstopped, and Frithiof leaped lightly ashore.\n\n\"Welcome indeed art thou, Frithiof!\" said Ingeborg; \"but woe is me! I\nread my fate upon thy brow.\"\n\n\"Seest thou not also blood-red runes thereon, bespeaking insult, shame,\nand banishment?\"\n\n\"Nay, calm thyself, and tell me quickly what has passed.\"\n\n\"Learn, then, my Ingeborg, the disgrace that I am forced to bear! I\nsought the assembly of the people gathered at thy father's grave-mound,\nwhere, close circling, stood the Northland's warriors, sword in hand and\nshield to shield. Within their ranks upon the Judgment seat, sat that\npale blood-man Helge, his gloomy gaze fast fixed upon the ground, while\nbeside him Halfdan, like some overgrown child, toyed idly with a slender\nsword.\n\n\"Then I stepped forth and spoke: 'The clouds of war, O Helge, overhang\nthy boundaries. Thy kingdom is in jeopardy; but give me thy sister, and\nI'll lend my arm, whose strength shall stand thee well in time of need.\nForgotten be our grudge, for loath am I to cherish hate against the\nbrother of my Ingeborg. Be just, O King! and save at once thy country\nand thy sister's heart! As proof of faith I offer thee my hand in peace;\nbut by the mighty Thor I swear that never again shall it be stretched to\nthee in reconcilement!'\n\n\"Loud plaudits rang from all about us; the clang of a thousand shields\nrose up to heaven. 'Yea, give him Ingeborg!' they shouted, 'the fairest\nlily in our vales! Remember, King, that Frithiof is our stoutest\nswordsman. Give him thy sister!'\n\n\"Thereat our noble foster-father, Hilding, stepped from out the throng\nand spoke for me. From his lips fell many a weighty speech and biting\nproverb, while even Halfdan, too, did urge consent. But vain were my\nwords, vain the shouts of the warriors, vain the intercession of Hilding\nand Halfdan! As little might the Spring sun coax a blade of grass from\nout the naked rock as our united prayers awake one kindly thought in\nHelge's breast. Unchanged his lowering glance as scornfully he spoke:\n\n\"'The peasant's son might claim, perchance, our sister: but never shall\nthe defiler of a temple win her hand. Speak, Frithiof! Hast thou not\nbroken Balder's peace? Hast thou not forced thy way into his holy\ntemple, despite the law which so forbids? Answer yea or nay!'\n\n\"'My life's happiness,' I answered, 'hangs upon a word. Yet fear not,\nHelge; neither for Valhalla's joys nor all this earth's delights would I\nforswear myself. Yea; in Balder's temple I have seen thy sister, but in\nno wise did I offend the pure and gentle god. Our prayers to him did\nwaken holy thoughts within our hearts and led me here to offer peace to\nthee.'\n\n\"More I could not speak, for a murmur of horror ran through the circle;\nthe warriors, paled by superstition, drew back from me as I were smitten\nwith the plague; thy brother's was the victory.\n\n\"At last he spoke: 'By the laws of our fathers, mine is the right to\nsentence thee to banishment or death: but rather will I emulate in\nmildness that god whose sanctuary thou hast violated. Hearken then to my\ndecree. Far to the westward lies a group of islands ruled by Augantyr.\nKing Bele long ago did lay him under tribute, and this he faithfully\nremitted so long as our royal father was alive. Since Bele's death he\nhas refused it. Go thou and collect this tribute, as atonement for thy\ncrime!'\n\n\"Then he added sneeringly: ''Tis said this Augantyr is hard-handed and\nsits brooding o'er his gold like Fafner, the famed dragon slain by\nSigurd. But who could withstand our second Sigurd's prowess? Truly this\nis far other work than seeking maids in Balder's holy grove! Here till\nthe Summer comes again we'll wait for thy return, bringing fresh glory\nand--above all else--the tribute! But shouldst thou fail in this--thou\nshalt be doomed as coward, branded and banished forever from thy native\nland!'\n\n\"So ended his words; the assembly was dissolved, and the warriors\ndispersed in silence.\"\n\n\"But what is now thy purpose, Frithiof?\"\n\n\"Have I a choice? This very day I depart to redeem my honor.\"\n\n\"And leave me here?\"\n\n\"Nay, come with me, my Ingeborg!\"\n\n\"Alas! that may not be.\"\n\n\"Yet hear me, beloved, ere thou dost fix thy firm resolve. Thy brother\nin his wisdom forgets that Augantyr was once my father's friend as well\nas Bele's. Perchance he'll yield with good-will what I ask; but should\nhe not, this friend I carry at my side shall prove a sharp and powerful\npersuader. Then will I send to King Helge the gold he so desireth and\nfree us both forever from the sacrificial knife of that crowned\nhypocrite; then we, my Ingeborg, will seek some distant happier land,\nand bid farewell to shores so hostile to our happiness. Look, my\n'Ellida' doth already spread her eagle's wings to bear us swiftly o'er\nthe waves! Come, beloved, haste thee!\"\n\n\"Alas! alas! I cannot follow.\"\n\n\"What hinders thee, my Ingeborg? Were thy good father but alive, and did\nhe--\"\n\n\"Forget not, Frithiof, that Helge holds my father's place with me. The\ngods have blessed and woven these bonds, and a woman dare not break them\nto steal her happiness, however near it lies.\"\n\n\"Once more consider. Is this word thy last?\"\n\n\"Alas! dear Frithiof, I cannot, dare not do else, if I would maintain my\nhonor and thy own.\"\n\n\"Then fare thee well, King Helge's sister--fare thee well!\"\n\n\"O Frithiof, Frithiof, is it thus thou wouldst depart--without a glance,\nwithout a hand-clasp for thy childhood's friend? Methinks one who is\nforced to sacrifice as much as I, doth well deserve at least a word of\ncomfort. The stir of life and clash of arms will ease thy grief, but\nwhat remains for me? To whom, alas! may I impart my woe? Within my bower\nI'll sit, thinking of thee and weaving broken lilies in my web, till\nSpring herself with fairer lilies shall adorn my grave.\"\n\n\"Cease! cease!\" cried Frithiof with deep emotion, as he clasped the\nmaiden's hand. \"Forgive me that my sorrow did assume the garb of anger.\nThou art right. I see it now, my better angel. 'Tis true that only noble\nminds can teach us what is noble, and thy pure heart was quicker far to\nsee the right than mine. Alone I'll go, and part from thee--but never\nfrom my hope, whate'er betide! Next Spring shall Helge see me here\nagain, the crime with which he charges me atoned. Then in full circle of\nthe warriors, 'mid glittering steel will I demand thee from thy brother\nas my wife. Till then farewell, and keep me ever in thy thoughts. In\nmemory of our childhood's love take thou this arm-ring, a treasured\nheirloom of my father's house: all the wonders of the heavens are carved\nupon it--but the world's best wonder is a faithful heart. See! how it\ngleams on thy white arm like a glow-worm upon a lily's stem!\"\n\nThus they parted, and \"Ellida\" bore the hero swiftly away, while\nIngeborg, sad and hopeless, betook her to her bower.\n\n\n\n\n                               Chapter X\n                           Frithiof's Voyage\n\n\nCold blew the wind; day by day the skies darkened; deck and mast, sail\nand rudder were covered thick with ice and frost. Frithiof was already\nfar from his native shores when suddenly black storm clouds overspread\nthe heavens and a fearful tempest arose. The sea was stirred to its\ndepths; waves mountain-high threatened to engulf the ship, which tossed\nhelplessly amid the boiling surges. But Frithiof exulted in the fury of\nthe elements; the wild scene upon which he gazed was but a reflection of\nthe storm that raged within his breast. Still the tempest increased;\nshowers of hailstones rattled down upon the deck and on the numbed hands\nof the warriors at the helm. A gust of wind tore away the cordage;\nplanks and timbers groaned and creaked; huge billows swept the deck; and\nhigher and higher rose the water in the hold despite all the efforts of\nthe ship's people, who now gave themselves up for lost. Even to Frithiof\nit seemed death was nigh.\n\n\"It is Helge that hath sent this storm upon us,\" said one, \"and who may\nwithstand witchcraft?\"\n\n\"Look!\" cried another, \"yonder swims a whale and bears on its back two\nsea-fiends! One is wrapped in the hide of the ice-bear; the other hath\nthe shape of a sea-eagle, with black wings flapping. Woe unto us! 'tis\nthe sea trolls, Heid and Ham! We are lost!\" But Frithiof, summoning his\nfriend Bjorn to take the helm, hastened to reassure the terror-stricken\ncrew. His words put fresh courage in their hearts, and with redoubled\nstrength they began once more to struggle against the fury of the storm.\n\n\"Courage, friends!\" he shouted; \"those who trust in the gods are safe\nfrom the power of evil spirits.\" Then, springing to the ship's prow, he\nchanted:\n\n  Now \"Ellida,\" show us\n  Whether, as 'tis boasted,\n  Hero-wood thy bosom holds!\n  Listen! Art thou truly\n  \u00c6gir's God-sprung daughter?\n  Dash with thy strong keel, and\n  Cleave yon spell-charmed whale!\n\nWith one bound the dragon clove the Troll-whale's body, and down it sank\nbeneath the waves.\n\n  Then, at once, the Hero hurleth\n  Two sharp spears; the ice-bear's hide\n  Pierceth one--the other springeth\n  Through the pitch-black eagle's side!\n\nInstantly the storm subsided. The sun broke through the clouds and the\nwaves no longer swept the deck. Soon the sea was as smooth as glass, and\nthere before them lay the islands ruled by Augantyr. But the weary\nrowers could no longer move their arms, the warriors were forced to lean\nfor support upon their swords. When the ship touched land, Bjorn carried\nfour and Frithiof eight of the exhausted men ashore. Food and drink were\nthen brought from the ship, and all refreshed themselves with a hearty\nmeal.\n\n\n\n\n                               Chapter XI\n                   Frithiof at the Court of Augantyr\n\n\nIn his great hall near the sea sat Augantyr at wassail with his\nchampions, while outside the window Halvar kept watch. A good swordsman\nand stout drinker was he, and often as his horn was empty he silently\nthrust it through the lattice to be refilled. Suddenly he flung it far\ninto the hall and shouted: \"I see a ship making to land! On it pale\nwarriors totter helplessly about; but so strong and fresh are two of\nthem that they carry the others to the shore.\"\n\nAugantyr strode to the window and gazed out toward the sea. Then he\nsaid: \"That, methinks, hath the look of 'Ellida,' Thorsten's dragon\nship, and in one of yonder two stout warriors I seem to see old\nThorsten's form and bearing. Hath he not the air of a prince of all the\nland?\"\n\nWhen the black-bearded Atle heard this, the Berserk fury seized him. He\nsprang from the board with eyes rolling and shouted--\"If this be\nFrithiof, now will I prove the truth of what is said, that he hath power\nto render harmless every blade, and never is the first to sue for\npeace.\" He rushed from the hall, followed by twelve of the warriors.\nHewing and thrusting furiously at the air with their swords, they\nstormed down to the shore, where Frithiof had built a fire to cheer his\nmen. From afar, Atle shouted:\n\n\"Easy were it now for me to slay thee; but rather shalt thou have thy\nchoice--to do battle with me here, or fly. But if thou wilt yield and\nsue for peace, then in friendly guise I'll lead thee to our lord.\"\n\n\"Is it your custom thus to welcome toil-worn heroes cast upon your\nshores?\" was Frithiof's answer. \"Then listen! Spent as I am with days of\nhardship and distress, yet never will I sue for peace from thee\"; and\ntherewith he drew his sword, the runes on the blade growing red as fire.\nFast and furious fell the sword-strokes. Both shields at the same moment\ndropped, riven in twain, upon the ground; yet fearlessly the champions\nfought on. At last down swept Angurvadel with resistless force, and\nloudly clanging Atle's blade was shattered.\n\nFrithiof stepped back, saying, \"Swordless I will not slay thee; but if\nthou wouldst not yet have peace then let us try a wrestling contest.\"\n\nFoaming with rage, Atle sprang at him and a fearful struggle began. Like\ntwo eagles seizing on their prey, they grappled with each other. The\nearth shook with the trampling of their feet. It seemed as if the\nheaving of their breasts would burst the encasing mail, while in awe\ntheir comrades stood about them waiting for the issue of the contest. At\nlength Thorsten's mighty son succeeded in throwing his adversary, and,\nkneeling on his breast, he cried:\n\n\"Were but my sword within my grasp, its blade e'er now had pierced thee\nthrough, thou swarthy Berserk!\"\n\n\"Go, then, and fetch it--I will lie here the while,\" said Atle proudly.\n\"All brave men to Valhalla's halls must wend at last--I to-day and thou\nto-morrow.\"\n\nStill filled with the rage of battle, Frithiof with one bound reached\nhis sword and was about to despatch his prostrate foe, who moved not,\nbut lay calmly gazing upward, when he suddenly relented and, dropping\nhis sword, held out his hand to the vanquished Atle. Just then Halvar\ncame hurrying thither waving a white wand and crying:\n\n                  [Illustration: _FRITHIOF'S wrestle_]\n\n\"Cease, cease your furious strife! The savory viands that await ye grow\ncold in their silver dishes, and my thirst doth press me sore.\"\n\nTherewith the two heroes who but now had striven in deadly combat\ntogether sought the court of Augantyr in peace.\n\nThe appearance of the great hall filled Frithiof with astonishment. In\nplace of the usual oaken planks the walls were covered with gilded\nleather adorned with flowering vines. The chimney was of marble; tapers\nin silver candlesticks illuminated the halls; the doors were held fast\nwith locks. A bountiful meal stood ready spread in heavy silver dishes,\nand near the high-seat a roasted stag adorned the board, the horns\nentwined with leaves, the hoofs gilded. On the high-seat of silver sat\nAugantyr, clad in helm and mail of glittering steel, inlaid with gold, a\npurple mantel sown with silver stars depending from his shoulders. He\narose as Frithiof entered, and advanced to meet his guest, saying:\n\n\"Full many a horn have I drained in Thorsten's company, and glad am I to\ndo fitting honor to his valiant son.\"\n\nThen leading him to a place beside him on the high-seat, he called on\nall his warriors to fill their horns and beakers and drink to Thorsten's\nmemory, while the hall rang to the sound of harps, as minstrels praised\nthat hero's glorious deeds.\n\nMeanwhile Augantyr questioned his guest concerning matters in the\nNorthland; and in well-chosen words, avoiding either praise or blame,\nFrithiof related all that had passed, concluding with his voyage and the\nterrible sea witches against whose power they had been forced to\ncontend. So eloquently did he describe their adventures that Augantyr\nlistened with approving smiles, and the bold champions about the board\noften interrupted the speaker with their shouts. Then Augantyr inquired\nthe purpose of his voyage, and Frithiof told him frankly of his love for\nIngeborg, of Helge's arrogance, and the penance that had been laid upon\nhim.\n\n\"For this have I come,\" he concluded, \"to demand of thee in behalf of\nKings Helge and Halfdan, the tribute thou wast wont to pay in Bele's\nlifetime.\"\n\nCalmly Augantyr replied: \"Never have I owned another as my lord. Free do\nI live; free also are my people about these seas. What I sent Bele was\nnot enforced, but given in friendship. His sons I know not. If they\nwould have tribute from me, let them demand it with the sword--then\nshall they have the best of answers! Yet thy father was my friend.\"\n\nHe beckoned to his daughter, who sat near him on a golden stool, and she\nhastened to the women's chamber, soon returning with a purse whereon was\nworked with rare skill a green forest scene--animals of gold wandered\nbeneath the trees, and above shone a silver moon. The tassels were\nstrung with costly pearls, the clasp enriched with rubies. Augantyr took\nthis purse, filled it to the brim with pieces of gold, and handed it to\nhis guest, saying, \"Take this as a gift of welcome, son of Thorsten, and\ndo with it as thou wilt; but as for claim, I refuse to acknowledge any\nsuch. Hear now my wish: tarry thou here till Spring comes, as my honored\nguest. Courage and boldness stand thee well in time of danger, it is\ntrue, yet think not thine 'Ellida' may withstand all the perils of the\nstormy season. And remember there are demons in the sea more mighty yet\nthan those which thou didst vanquish.\"\n\nTo this Frithiof gladly agreed, and he held out his hand to his\nhospitable host, saying: \"Be it, then, as thou wilt!\"\n\n\n\n\n                              Chapter XII\n                           Frithiof's Return\n\n\nThe winter passed, and again were hill and valley, grove and forest,\nclothed with bloom and verdure. Then Frithiof thanked his host, and,\nbidding him farewell, was soon speeding joyously away across the foaming\nmain. Six times the sun rose and set, and the seventh morning found him\nnear his journey's end. Consumed with longing, Frithiof rose early and\nmounted to the deck. There, veiled in the mists of dawn, he saw his\nnative shores and heard the familiar rushing of its mountain streams.\nLight as a bird flew \"Ellida\" o'er the dancing waves and in her swelling\nsails the western breezes sang like nightingales. Just as the first ray\nof sunlight fell on land and sea they entered the well-known haven.\n\n\"Past the green birch woods now,\" cried Frithiof to Bjorn, \"and Framnas\ngreets me!\"\n\nWith beating heart and gleaming eyes he waited--but what is this? Is he\nbewitched? There lies the open space where his forefathers built their\ndwelling, yet naught is to be seen of it. Do his eyes deceive him? He\nrubs them and looks again at the familiar spot; but neither house nor\nbuilding of any kind is there, only a tall blackened chimney stands out\ndark against the sky. Looking closer, where Framnas stood, he sees a\ngreat pile of ruins, from which the ashes whirl aloft.\n\n\"Ellida's\" anchor is dropped, and silently Frithiof approaches the scene\nof devastation. Stones and charred beams are strewn around or heaped\ntogether in confusion; fruit trees stretch forth their shrivelled\nbranches; about the levelled grave-mounds lie the bones of heroes. As\nFrithiof stands spellbound amid the desolation, his faithful hound Bran\ncomes bounding to meet him. Yelping with joy he leaps upon his master,\nwhile out from the dale trots a milk-white courser, neighing and tossing\nhis gold-knotted mane. Frithiof stroked the dog's head and patted his\nfavorite's glossy neck; but the shadow on his brow remained unaltered.\nThen he saw Hilding, his aged foster-father coming toward him with\nmournful look.\n\n\"Welcome, father, to the ruins of Framnas!\" he cried, and then added\nbitterly: \"But why should this sight surprise me? 'Tis when the eagle is\nflown that boys plunder his nest. So thus doth King Helge guard the hut\nof the peasant; thus he keeps his royal oath! Rage at his dastardly act\nmore moves me than grief for what is lost. But tell me first of all,\ngood father, where is Ingeborg?\"\n\n\"Alas! my son,\" replied Hilding, \"I fear my tidings will but aggravate\nthy woe, yet listen to what has passed. Scarce wert thou gone when King\nRing invaded the country, his force outnumbering ours full five to one.\nIn the Disardale we met, and bloody was the battle. The waters of the\nstream ran red with gore. Halfdan, as ever, laughed and jested; but so\nbravely did he bear him, my heart was gladdened at the sight, and twice\ndid my shield protect him from a death-stroke. The victory might even\nhave been ours, had not King Helge, seized with panic, fled; whereat the\npeople's courage, too, forsook them, and, flinging down their arms, they\nscattered far and wide. But in his flight King Helge paused to fire thy\nhouse. Ring then demanded of the brothers lands and crown, or that they\nyield him up their sister's hand. Messengers went often to and fro, and\nin the end King Ring bore Ingeborg homeward as his Queen.\"\n\nFrithiof laughed wildly: \"Who now,\" he cried, \"dare talk to me of\nwoman's truth, since she whom I deemed true as Nanna's self hath proven\nfaithless? Hereafter naught but hate for mankind shall my bosom harbor;\nhenceforth the seas shall have their fill of blood, for none who cross\nmy path shall Angurvadel spare!\"\n\n\"Nay, son,\" said Hilding sorrowfully, \"abate thy wrath, nor seek to\nrevenge thy wrongs upon the innocent. Rather accuse the Norns, whose\ndoom on thee hath fallen. What Ingeborg doth suffer I alone can tell.\nBefore all others her despair was dumb as is the turtle dove that mourns\nher mate. So doth the sea fowl, pierced by death's arrow, sink beneath\nthe waves, in those cool depths to pour away her life. 'Atonement'--so\nshe spake--'hath been decreed by Balder for Frithiof's violation of his\nholy place; nor may I, faint-hearted, seek to shun the sacrifice. To\ndeath he dooms me, not swift,--ah! that were easy,--but lingering--slow,\nto waste away with grief. To that decree I yield. Reveal to no one what\nI suffer. I desire pity from none. But be thou the bearer of my last\nfarewell to Frithiof.'\n\n\"At last the wedding day was come (Oh, would that evil day had never\ndawned!); to Balder's temple walked a train of white-robed maidens, led\nby a bard whose mournful chant moved every heart to woe. Amid them, on a\ncoal-black steed rode Ingeborg, like that pale spirit which surmounts\nthe thunder cloud. Before the doors of the temple I lifted my lily from\nher saddle and led her to the altar. With unfaltering tongue she spoke\nher vows; but unto Balder then she prayed in such heart-rending tones\nthat every eye save hers was filled with tears. Then for the first time\nHelge marked the ring she wore. With a furious glance he tore it from\nher and placed thy gift upon the arm of Balder. But thereat I could no\nlonger suppress my rage, and, snatching my sword from out its sheath,\napproached the King as he stood before the image of the god. Of as\nlittle worth was he to me at that moment as the lowest of his people,\nand verily a crime would have been committed in that sacred place had\nnot a whisper reached my ears from Ingeborg.\n\n\"'Nay, stay thy hand. Stain not thy spotless blade! My brother might\nindeed have spared me this; but much a heart can suffer ere it break,\nand the All-Father shall one day judge between us!'\"\n\n\"Ay, Ingeborg,\" cried Frithiof, \"thou speakest truly--the All-Father\nwill one day judge between us! But he also metes out justice here below\nby mortal hand, and 'tis in my heart that I am hither led to be the\njudge of one. Is not to-day the Midsummer feast of Balder, that Helge\ncelebrates within his temple? Now, crowned priest, thou who hast sold\nthy sister, thou who hast robbed me of my bride, behold to-day thy\njudge!\"\n\n\n\n\n                              Chapter XIII\n                       The Burning of the Temple\n\n\nIt was midnight. Low across the mountains burned the blood-red sun,\nwhich in far northern Scandinavia never sets on the longest day of the\nyear. Neither day nor night was it--an awful twilight reigned. Within\nthe temple Balder's great feast was being celebrated. High in the air\nshot the flames from the sacred hearthstone, while pale, white-bearded\npriests raked the brands till showers of crackling sparks flew upward.\nClad in his royal robes, Helge presided at the altar.\n\nSuddenly the clash of arms sounded without, and a voice was heard:\n\"Bjorn, hold fast the door! Let none escape! If any strive by force to\npass thee, cleave his skull!\" Helge grew deadly pale; he knew that voice\ntoo well. Then in strode Frithiof and addressed him:\n\n\"Here is the tribute thou didst order me to bring thee from Augantyr.\nTake it! And now, for life or death we'll strive before this altar. One\nof us twain must burn on Balder's pyre. Shieldless we'll fight and thou,\nas befits a King, shalt have first stroke. But beware, I say, for I\nstrike second. Nay--gaze not fearfully about, nor seek escape, King Fox!\nCaught in thy hole art thou at last. Remember Framnas that thou didst\nlay waste, and think of Ingeborg's cheeks, blanched by thee!\"\n\nBeside himself with fury, Frithiof tore the heavy purse of gold from his\nbelt and hurled it at the head of the King, who straightway sank\nswooning on the altar steps, blood gushing from his mouth and nose.\n\n\"What! canst thou not bear the weight of thine own gold?\" shouted\nFrithiof. \"Shame! shame! thou coward King! Truly my sword is far too\nnoble for thee, nor shall it taste of blood so base as thine. Silence,\nye pale priests of moonlight, nor dare to lift your sacrificial knives!\nBack, back, I say, for thirsty grows my blade!\"\n\nHe lifted his eyes to the image of Balder. \"Thou shining god, frown not\nso darkly on me!\" Then, perceiving the arm-ring he had given to\nIngeborg, his anger blazed up fiercer than before.\n\n\"Nay--by thy leave,\" he cried; \"that ring came not in lawful fashion on\nthy arm! Not for thee did Vaunlund forge its wonders; and he who is its\nmaster claims his own.\"\n\nHe pulled at the ring, but it seemed grown fast to Balder's arm. Putting\nforth all his strength, at last he tore it loose; but therewith down\ncrashed the image of the god into the fire below. Higher and higher\nleaped the flames, till beam and rafter kindled. Horror-stricken,\nFrithiof stood for a moment motionless; then turning to the door, he\nshouted:\n\n\"Open, Bjorn! Let all depart! The feast is over. The temple blazes;\nbring water! Hasten, all, to quench the flames!\"\n\nQuickly a chain of men to the sea is formed. From hand to hand the\nbuckets fly, while high up among the rafters stands Frithiof, calm amid\nthe mounting flames, and directs his comrades. But vain are all their\nefforts. The golden plates of the roof melt and drop down into the fiery\nsands.\n\n\"All is lost!\" shout the people. \"See the red fire-cock, how he stands\nupon the roof-tree and ever wider spreads his glowing wings!\"\n\nA strong wind arose and whirled the flaming brands into the treetops,\ndry from the summer heats. Raging from branch to branch it leaped, and\nsoon the whole grove was one sea of fire. When morning broke, Balder's\nGrove and Temple lay in ashes, while Frithiof sat within his dragon ship\nand wept.\n\n\n\n\n                              Chapter XIV\n                           Frithiof in Exile\n\n\nAs \"Ellida\" passed the strand, Frithiof gazed from the deck with gloomy\nbrow upon the scene of conflagration, from which the thick smoke still\nascended, and anguish filled his breast.\n\n\"Woe, woe is me!\" he cried to himself; \"in accusation rises yonder smoke\nto Odin's halls! Banished was I by Helge but for a brief space; now must\nI forever leave my native land. Be thou, O sea, from hence my country.\nOn thy blue billows will I make my home. Framnas no longer is my\ndwelling; thou, swift 'Ellida,' shalt be now my house. My bride, too,\nart thou in thy black garb, since she in lily robes is lost to me\nforever. Free dost thou roll, O mighty ocean! No tyrant's will can ever\ndo thee wrong; the only King thou callest master is he who looks upon\nthee calmly when thy white breast heaves in wildest fury, and thunder\npeals are swallowed in thy voice. No grave-mound e'er shall rise above\nme; thy tossing waves shall cover deep my bones.\"\n\nHere Bjorn approached and touched his shoulder, saying, \"Look! yonder\nKing Helge makes his way amid the rocks. Methinks he hath yet a word to\nspeak with thee.\" Ten dragon ships were seen approaching. Frithiof\nsprang to his feet and bade his men prepare for battle. Joyously they\nshouted:\n\n\"King Helge wearies of the crown. His soul thirsts for Valhalla's\ndelights. Now shall he fall; bold Frithiof leads us unto victory.\"\n\nOn came the ships in a half-circle, surrounding \"Ellida.\" Helge had\ngiven orders to slay Frithiof and all his men, but to capture the ship\nas their prize. Suddenly a strange sight met the eyes of Frithiof and\nhis warriors and filled them with amazement: nine of the ships sank\nslowly down beneath the waves, while Helge himself escaped with\ndifficulty to the shore. Bjorn laughed.\n\n\"'Twas I that scuttled the ships last night, unseen. A good trick it\nwas, and all befell as I had hoped, save that King Helge has escaped!\"\n\nNow all the sails were spread and the ship sped swiftly out to sea.\nBackward gazing, Frithiof watched the fast receding shore and chanted a\nsong that moved all hearts to sadness:\n\n  Farewell! mounds dreaming\n    By wavelets blue,\n  Where west winds streaming\n    White blossoms strew!\n  Odin revealeth\n    And doometh well\n  What man concealeth;--\n    Farewell! Farewell!\n\n  Farewell, ye bowers,\n    Ye limpid streams,\n  Where 'mid spring flowers,\n    Youth wandered in dreams.\n  Ye friends of childhood\n    Who loved me well,--\n  Till death remembered,--\n    Farewell! Farewell!\n\n  My love insulted,\n    My dwelling brent,\n  My honor tarnished,\n    In exile sent,--\n  Heart bideth in sadness\n    Norns' fatal spell.\n  To Life's young gladness\n    Farewell! Farewell!\n\n\n\n\n                               Chapter XV\n                         Frithiof's Viking Life\n\n\nThus Frithiof became a viking, the sea his only home; and these are the\nlaws he made for his followers:\n\n  \"Pitch no tent on thy ship; seek no slumber below. On his shield\n  sleeps the viking, his sword in his hand. His tent is the blue dome of\n  heaven.\n\n  \"Short be thy sword, like the hammer of Thor; strike close to the foe.\n\n  \"When the storm roars on high, spread wider the sails: The sea in its\n  wrath fills the viking with joy; a coward is he who would furl.\n\n  \"Wine is drink of the gods. Enjoy thou the gift, but drown not thy\n  senses--beware! He who falls on the land rises quickly again; who\n  staggers here is the death-goddess' prey!\n\n  \"Protect the merchant ship on the high seas so due tribute it doth not\n  refuse. Thou art lord of the waves; he's a slave to his pelf. Thy\n  steel is as good as his gold. By lot shall the booty be shared among\n  all; complain not however it falls. The Sea King himself throws no\n  dice on the deck; he seeks only glory from his foes.\n\n  \"Heaves a viking in sight, then come boarding and strife; from us he\n  is banished who yields. Mercy fits him who conquers; he who lays down\n  his arms at thy feet is no longer thy foe.\n\n  \"Prayer is Valhalla's child, and a scoundrel is he who, ruthless,\n  refuses to hear it.\n\n  \"The viking's rewards are his wounds; before all, on the brow and the\n  breast are they glorious. He who seeketh ere issue of battle to bind\n  them no longer is comrade of viking.\"\n\nThus ran the code of Frithiof, and no laws of Odin were more strictly\nobeyed. Many a battle did these heroes fight and win, for there was not\ntheir like on all the seas; and soon their fame spread far and wide. But\nnaught of this had power to gladden Frithiof's heart; he would sit, helm\nin hand, for hours with clouded brow, gazing out over the rolling\nwaters. Only in battle did the shadow vanish, as with flashing eyes and\nfiercely swelling breast he led his men to victory.\n\nFor three years they sailed the seas northward and westward; then\nturning south, his dragon anchored one day off the coast of Greek-land\n(Greece). With wonder Frithiof gazed upon that beauteous land, with its\nnoble ruined temples rising amid fragrant groves. The tales his father\nhad been wont to tell of those fair isles still lingered in his memory\nlike some lovely vision--a dream that now was realized. Hither had he\nonce thought to flee with Ingeborg from the haughty Helge, here with her\nto found an abode of bliss, but the noble maiden had denied his prayers\nand shrunk from such a breach of duty and of custom. Amid these fair\nscenes memories of his native land awoke afresh within him, and he\nlonged to see it once again. But most of all he yearned for a sight of\nIngeborg and to visit his father's grave-mound.\n\n\"Why do I linger here in strange seas and stain my hands with blood?\" he\nasked himself. \"Enough of glory have I won, and I care not for gold.\nNorth points the flag on the masthead. To the Northland the home of my\nyouth! Up, 'Ellida'! no longer we'll tarry, but follow that token from\nHeaven!\"\n\n\n\n\n                              Chapter XVI\n                  Frithiof comes to King Ring's Court\n\n\nOn his high-seat sat King Ring, celebrating the great Yule tide feast\nthat fell on the winter solstice, and beside him Ingeborg, his wife,\nlike chilly Autumn with the youthful Spring. The mead-horn went round,\nand joyous shouts and laughter filled the hall. Suddenly through the\ndoorway entered an old man, tall of stature and wrapped from head to\nfoot in a great bearskin. In his hand he bore a staff and walked as if\nbowed with age. None knew him, and he quietly took his place on the\nbench near the door, reserved for the poor. The courtiers smiled to one\nanother and pointed jeeringly at the shaggy figure, while one playfully\napproached with intent to make sport of him for the amusement of the\nothers. With flashing eyes the stranger seized the rash youth, whirled\nhim about in the air, and set him again on his feet unharmed; whereat\nthe courtiers' smiles deserted them, and they fell straightway silent.\n\n\"What noise is that down yonder?\" cried Ring sternly.\n\n\"Come hither, old man, who thus disturbest our kingly peace! Who art\nthou? What brings thee here? Whence comest thou?\"\n\n\"Much dost thou ask, O King,\" replied the stranger, \"yet all will I tell\nthee save my name,--that concerneth none but me. In Penitence was I\nreared; Want was my inheritance; my latest bed a Wolf's lair. Astride my\ndragon, with its mighty wings, I flew swiftly hither from afar; now my\ngood ship lies frozen in upon thy shores. I came to hear thy words of\nwisdom, famed through all the land. When thy people just now sought to\nmock me, I seized a vain fool and swung him round about--but I did him\nno harm. Forgive me, King!\"\n\n\"Truly,\" the monarch cried,--\"thou speakest well, and wisdom's teachings\nbid us honor age. Come, sit at the board. But first, I pray thee, doff\nthy strange disguisement and show thyself in thy true form, for\ndeception is ever wont to be the foe of gladness.\"\n\nAt this the stranger let fall his hairy covering, and there, in place of\nan old man, appeared a youth of noble stature, his loft brow shaded with\nbright flowing locks. A blue mantle hung from his mighty shoulders, and\nhis tunic was held in place by a wide silver belt, on which, with\ncunning skill, beasts of the forest were embossed. Heavy gold armlets\nencircled his arm; at his left side hung a sword that gleamed like\nlightning. Fair as Balder, like to the mighty Thor in strength of limb,\nhe stood before the King and his astonished court. For a moment his keen\nglance wandered about the hall, then he seated himself calmly at the\nboard. The blood rushed to the cheeks of the Queen till she glowed as\ncrimson as the ice-fields lit by flaring Northern lights.\n\nBut now the trumpets sounded the signal for silence. It was the hour of\nthe vow, and the crowned boar was borne into the hall on a silver\ncharger and placed upon the board. Touching the head of the boar, Ring\nsaid:\n\n\"Hearken, ye warriors, to my vow! I swear to conquer Frithiof, howsoever\nstout a champion he be; so help me Odin, Thor, and Frey!\"\n\nThe stranger rose with a frown and dashed his sword upon the board with\nsuch a clang that all the warriors sprang from their seats.\n\n\"Hear thou me likewise, good Sir King,\" he cried: \"That Frithiof whom\nthou namest is my friend and kinsman: and him I swear to guard with life\nand limb, so help me Norns and my good sword!\"\n\nThe King smiled. \"Thou speakest boldly,\" he answered, \"but words are\nfree in Northland's royal halls. Fill for him, Queen, yon horn with\ndraught of welcome. I hope he'll tarry with us as our guest till Spring\nreturns.\"\n\nThis horn was a precious heirloom of the house, broken from the forehead\nof the urus. Its feet were of silver wonderfully wrought, while the\ngolden rings about it were carven with strange runes. With downcast eyes\nIngeborg handed it to the guest, but she trembled so that the wine was\nspilled, and red drops gleamed on her white hand like evening's purple\nblushes on a lily.\n\nUnmoved, the hero took the mighty horn, lifted it to his lips and at one\ndraught drained it to the honor of his host. Then at a sign from the\nKing, the scald smote on his harpstrings and chanted many a\nheart-stirring song and legend. In lofty words he sang of love and\nfriendship, of freedom and the country's glory, of the high gods and\nValhalla's wonders, till fire shot forth from every eye, and\ninvoluntarily each warrior grasped the handle of his sword.\n\nDeeply they drank throughout the night, and many a champion, like a\ntower of strength in battle, was vanquished by the sweetly foaming mead.\n\n\n\n\n                              Chapter XVII\n                          The Sledge Excursion\n\n\n\"Ho for a sledge ride over the frozen lake!\" cried Ring one day; and the\nservitors hastened to loose one of the pawing steeds from the royal\nstables and harness it before a splendid sledge, over the seat of which\nwas thrown a silky sealskin.\n\n\"'Tis not safe on the lake,\" said the stranger. \"The ice is thin and\nweak in some parts, and should it give way, full cold and deep would be\nthy bath!\"\n\n\"Nay, not so easily do monarchs drown,\" replied the King; \"let him who\nfears it, go around the shore!\"\n\nThe stranger said no more, but frowning darkly, hastened to fasten on\nhis steel skates, while the impatient courser pawed the air and whinnied\nloudly.\n\n\"Speed on, my steed,\" cried Ring, \"and let us see if thou art sprung\nfrom Sleipner's blood!\"\n\nAway dashed the sledge with the speed of the whirlwind, the\nstout-hearted old king exulting in the motion and heeding not the\nentreaties of his wife; but swift as they flew, the stranger still\noutstripped them, circling about in wide curves or cutting figures on\nthe ice. Meanwhile, false Ran, the spouse of the Sea-god, has marked\nwhat is passing above. She cleaves a broad fissure in the sea's silvery\nroof, and into the up-foaming waves plunge horse and sledge. But swift\nas the wind flies the stranger thither. Fixing his steel shoes firmly in\nthe ice, he seizes the horse by the mane and with a mighty jerk, pulls\nit and sledge together back on to the ice.\n\n\"In sooth,\" said the King, \"that deed doth merit praise; e'en Frithiof\nhimself could do no better. And now, my Fleet-of-foot, let us back to\nthe palace again.\"\n\n\n\n\n                             Chapter XVIII\n                         Frithiof's Temptation\n\n\nSpring is come once more; birds warble in the treetops; freed from their\nicy bonds, the streams leap gaily downward to the vales below; the roses\npart their delicate sheaths and blossom red as Frigga's cheeks. King\nRing will now go hunting, and forthwith a joyous stir pervades the\ncourt. Bows twang, quivers rattle, fiery coursers paw the ground, the\nhooded falcon screams for its victim, and scarce can the huntsmen keep\nin leash the eager hounds. Fair as Frigga, dazzling as the battle-maiden\nRota, sits the Queen upon her milk-white steed like a star on a summer\ncloud. Her hunting dress is of green, embroidered with gold, and blue\nplumes wave from her velvet cap.\n\nLed by the royal pair, the gay train wends its way into the forest, and\nsoon the sport begins. Loud bay the hounds; up mount the hawks into the\nclear sky; horns sound; the frightened game seeks lair and covert; and\nthe eager huntsmen scatter in pursuit.\n\nKing Ring has fallen behind; old and feeble, he can no longer follow the\nlengthening chase, while beside him silent and thoughtful, rides his\nguest. At last they reached a rocky glen shut in by thick-clustering\ntrees and thickets, and here the King dismounted from his courser,\nsaying:\n\n\"Full weary am I, stranger; here will I rest me in this pleasant spot.\"\n\n\"Nay, sleep not on the cold hard ground,\" replied the other; \"I had\nbetter lead thee back to thy own halls.\"\n\n\"Sweet slumber comes when least expected; 'tis the way of the gods,\"\nsaid Ring. \"Surely thou dost not grudge thy host an hour of rest!\"\n\nWithout further words, the stranger spread his cloak upon the ground and\nseated himself on a fallen tree-trunk, while Ring, stretching himself\nout upon the mantle, laid his head against the other's knees. His eyes\nclosed and soon he slept, sweetly as an infant cradled in its mother's\narms. As the stranger gazed gloomily down on the face of the King, he\nheard a rustling in the branches above him to the left, and lifting his\neyes he saw a coal-black bird, which began to sing:\n\n  Haste thee, Frithiof, slay the dotard, with one sword-stroke grant him\n              rest!\n  Take the Queen; she's thine; her sacred kiss of plighted troth she\n              gave.\n  Here no human eye can see thee--silent is the deep, dark grave!\n\nScarce had the sound ceased when from a bough on the right, a snow-white\nbird began:\n\n  Though no human eye should see thee, Odin would the death-stroke view.\n  Wouldst thou murder him in slumber? Cowardly thy bright sword stain?\n  Know, whate'er besides thou winnest, hero-fame thou ne'er shalt gain!\n\nThus sang the two birds, while contending thoughts struggled within the\nlistener. Suddenly he seized his sword by the handle and flung it far\nfrom him into the shadow of the forest. Whereupon the black bird, with\nheavy flapping of its wings, flew back to the dark halls of Night, the\nabode of perjurers and assassins; while, blithely warbling, upward the\nwhite bird took its flight and vanished at last in the blue of heaven.\nAt that moment the King awoke and rising to his feet, said:\n\n\"Sweet indeed hath been my slumber. Well they rest whom valor's sword\ndoth guard. But where is thy war blade, stranger? Methought the Brother\nof Lightning never left thy side. Say, who hath parted you?\"\n\n\"Little boots it,\" answered the other; \"swords are plenty in the\nNorthland. The sword is not always a good companion. Its tongue is sharp\nand it speaketh few words of peace. In steel there dwells an evil\nspirit, sprung from Loke's dark abode, to whom not even sleep is sacred,\nnor the silver locks of age.\"\n\n\"Hearken, youth!\" began the King. \"I slept not. 'Twas but to try thee I\ndid feign to slumber--a fool is he who trusts a man or a blade untried.\nThou art Frithiof! I knew thee even when thou didst cross my threshold.\nBut wherefore didst thou creep nameless and in such disguise into my\npalace? Wherefore, if not to rob me of my wife? Honor comes not nameless\nto the banquet, Frithiof! Ever open-faced she meets men's glances, clear\nas sunlight is her shield. The fame of Frithiof's deeds has reached\nus,--a terror both of gods and men; careless alike of cloven shield or\nburning temple; the mightiest warrior known in all the land. And this\nbold hero, this fierce viking, creeps, a beggar, to our hall! Nay, cast\nnot down thy eyes before me. I, too, have once been young and felt as\nthou. Youth, well I know, hath fiery passions. Much have I thought on\nthee, O Frithiof. I have pitied and have pardoned thee. Hearken now! I\nam growing old and feeble, and soon for me the grave shall open. Then\ntake unto thyself my kingdom and my wife. Until that time, be thou a son\nto me and guard my house as thou hast done before. And now, my son, let\nthere be no more feud between us!\"\n\n\"Not as a thief did I enter thy halls, O King,\" replied Frithiof\nproudly. \"Had I come to seize thy Queen, who could have withstood me?\n'Twas but to behold once again her who before the altar gave me her\nbetrothal kiss. But ah, what slumbering fires my rashness hath awakened!\nToo long already have I tarried. Upon my head the gods have poured their\nwrath. Even the gentle Balder, lover of all mankind, spurns my prayers.\n'Twas I who burned his temple. 'Wolf in the Sanctuary,' am I called. All\njoy ceases when my name is spoken. The child clings trembling to its\nfather's knees. Once more will I seek the broad, free ocean, whither\nearth and man have banished me. Out, out, my dragon! Too long in\nidleness thou hast lain. Again to the storm wind shalt thou spread thy\npinions, and bathe thy black breast in the dashing spray! All--all on\nearth is lost to me forever; the tempest's roar, the clash of arms shall\nwhisper comfort to my soul once more! So will I live, so will I fighting\nfall; and mounting then to Odin's throne, the gods, appeased, shall\nspeak my pardon.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              Chapter XIX\n                           Death of King Ring\n\n\nPale on his throne sat the aged monarch, for he felt his end\napproaching. Ingeborg, trembling, stood beside him, and a circle of\nsilent warriors stood about the royal pair. Sorrowfully Frithiof entered\nto say farewell.\n\n\"This day for the last time do ye behold me,\" he said; \"for the last\ntime my foot doth tread the soil of earth. Henceforth, till the Norns\nshall send their summons the ocean's boundless wastes shall be my home.\nTake back the ring round which such memories cluster, Ingeborg; let it\nbe a parting token from me. And thou, O King, go not with thy Queen by\nmoonlight to the strand, nor when the pale stars shine, for at your feet\nthe waves might chance to toss my bleaching bones.\"\n\n\"Nay, Frithiof,\" replied the King, \"such mournful plaints become not\nmen; in maids they may be pardoned. For me the death song soundeth, not\nfor thee. 'Tis I must hence, not thou! Take thou my realm and guard it\nwell. Take Ingeborg as thy wife, and be a father to my infant son. Ever\nthrough life hath peace been dearest to me; well have I loved to sit\nwith friends about the board; yet with a strong hand have I guarded\nthrone and honor, and cloven many a shield on sea and land; nor ever\nhath man seen my cheek turn pale. Victory hath been mine, and glory. One\nboon only have the gods denied me--to mount to Valhalla from the\nbattle-field. Death by the sword is the death of heroes; to linger\non,--the straw death,--never such will Ring live to endure!\" And\ntherewith he plunged his sword into his breast. As the life-blood gushed\nforth he had his horn brought to him, and raising it aloft, with glowing\nface he cried:\n\n\"To thy glory I drain this, my country, thou Northland! Ye gods of\nValhalla, all hail, all hail!\"\n\n                  [Illustration: _KING RING'S Death_]\n\nSilence reigned within the hall; none gave way to grief lest the dying\nman's last moments should be saddened. Sinking back on his cushions, the\nKing clasped Ingeborg's hand for the last time--greeted his friend and\nson with a parting glance, and sighing, his soul ascended to the\nAll-Father. Great was the mourning for him throughout the kingdom; amid\nuniversal lamentations the good King's mound was heaped above him, while\nscalds with sounding dirges glorified his memory.\n\n\n\n\n                               Chapter XX\n                      The Election to the Kingdom\n\n\n\"To the Ting! To the Ting!\" The message flies o'er hill and vale; the\npeople are summoned to elect their King. Champions try their swords,\nvassals polish their lord's helm and buckler till they shine like the\nsun. Thus with clang of arms the warriors assembled on the open plain.\nIn their midst on the wide Ting-stone stood Frithiof, and at his side\nKing Ring's son, a fair child with golden hair.\n\n\"Too young is Ring's heir,\" was murmured through the multitude; \"no\nchief is he to lead us into battle, or sit in judgment on the\nTing-stone.\"\n\nBut Frithiof placed the child upon his shield and held him high aloft,\nsaying: \"Northmen, behold your King, a vigorous offshoot of the fallen\noak! Doth he not bear him well upon the shield? Hear now my vow: I swear\nto guard for him his Kingdom, till with his father's circlet he shall\none day here be crowned.\" Then raising his eyes to heaven, he added:\n\"Forsete, son of Balder, be my witness! O thou who judgest justly,\nstrike me dead if e'er I break my word!\"\n\nMeanwhile the King's son sat on Frithiof's gleaming shield, gazing about\nhim proudly; but at length he began to weary of it, and with one bound\nsprang lightly to the ground. A shout went up from all the Ting:\n\n\"Ha, that was indeed a royal leap! Aye, shield-borne, thee we choose to\nbe our King! And thou, O Frithiof, who shalt guard his crown and\nkingdom, take Ingeborg, our Queen, to be thy wife!\"\n\nAt these words Frithiof's brow darkened. \"To choose a King are you\ncome,\" he answered; \"my bride I woo of my own choice. In anger still\ndoth Balder look upon me. 'Twas he that took my Ingeborg from me, and he\nalone can give her back to me.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              Chapter XXI\n                           The Reconciliation\n\n\nNo peace was there yet in Frithiof's heart. As fire had once consumed\nthe temple, so within him still blazed the flames of his remorse that by\nhis act had Balder's earthly dwelling been destroyed. Betaking himself\nto his father's grave-mound he sat all night alone upon the cairn,\nbeseeching Balder to smile upon him once again. And lo! in the darkness\na wondrous vision grew before his eyes. In Balder's Grove he saw a\ngleaming temple slowly rise; but scarcely had he gazed upon it in\namazement, when again 'twas swallowed in the gloom of night.\n\nRoused by fresh hope of winning the offended god's forgiveness, he\nhastily returned to Ring's dominions and summoned architects to plan for\nthe building of a new temple. Just as he had seen it in his vision\nshould the home of Balder actually rise. So filled was he with this one\nthought that nothing else had power to move him, neither feast, nor\nchase, nor sounding minstrel lay.\n\nAt last the work was finished, and like the far-famed shrine of Upsal,\nthe great temple stood a wonder to all eyes. A brazen portal richly\ncarved led to the sanctuary; two rows of lofty columns supported the\narching roof, like a great shield of gold. Facing the doorway stood the\nhigh altar, hewn from a single block of Northern marble and polished\nwith rare skill; round about it were graven runes of solemn import.\nAbove, in a spacious niche, was Balder's august image, wrought all of\npurest silver. On a rocky hillside rose the building, its reflection\nmirrored in the sea below, while round about on three sides stretched a\nsmiling valley, known as Balder's Dale. Leafy groves adorned the flowery\nmeadows. No sound but happy bird songs broke the silence; all nature\nbreathed of peace.\n\nWith deep emotion Frithiof trod those holy precincts. Twelve\nrosy-cheeked maidens, priestesses of the temple, robed all in white,\nadvanced to the high altar and chanted a holy song in praise of Balder.\nThey sang how beloved was the gentle god by every creature; and when he\nfell by evil Loke's malice, how heaven itself with earth and ocean wept.\nAnd as leaning on his sword the hero listened, the dark shadow, that so\nlong had lain upon his spirit, lifted. Tender memories of his childhood\nwoke within him, while calm and serene as the moon in the skies of\nSummer, Balder the Good looked down upon him and filled his soul with\npeace. Then with slow steps approached the high-priest of the temple,\nnot young and fair like the god at whose shrine he worshipped, but tall\nand majestic, his noble features stamped with heavenly mildness and\ngraced with flowing beard and locks of silver. With unwonted reverence\nFrithiof bent his haughty head before the seer, who thus began:\n\n\"Welcome, son Frithiof, to this holy temple. Long have I looked for thee\nto come, for force, though restless over land and sea it wanders, turns\never, wearied, home again at last. Oft did the mighty Thor wend thus to\nJotunheim, the giants' kingdom; yet despite his godlike belt and magic\ngauntlets, the giant King still sits upon his throne. Evil, itself a\nforce, yields not to evil. Virtue without strength is but child's play,\nthe glancing sunbeam on the shield, a wavering shadow on the earth's\nbroad breast. Yet neither may strength without virtue long survive. It\nconsumes itself, like rusting sword in some dark grave-mound--a debauch\nfrom which he who yieldeth to it wakens filled with shame.\n\n\"Behold the mighty earth! It is the body of Ymir, the world-giant from\nwhom all strength proceeds--its rushing streams his blue veins; its iron\nand brass his sinews; yet all is barren, bare, and empty till heaven's\nbright sun-rays stream upon it from afar. Then springs the grass; fair\nblossoms deck the verdant meadows, and fresh leaves, the trees; the\nswelling buds burst forth; all nature breathes new life from the\nabundant earth. Thus is it with man's strength: it yields naught but\nblessing when transfigured by the heavenly rays of virtue.\n\n\"What the sun is to the earth, was Balder to Valhalla. His pure soul was\nthe gem that fastened the wreath divine. When, slain by evil Loke, he\ndescended to pale Hel's realm, Odin's wisdom straight began to languish,\nand the strength of mighty Thor to dwindle; the prisoned forces of evil,\nonce mastered by the gods, stirred in their abysses; the dragon Nidhogg\ngnawed at the roots of the Tree of Life, and its leafy crown fast\nwithered. Again the war broke out 'twixt good and evil--the strife that\nthrough all creation still endures.\n\n\"This is but the emblem of what passes in every human breast. Hast thou\nforgotten, my son, those days when Balder dwelt within thy spirit? Pure\nthen was every thought and feeling, thy whole life glad as a woodland\nsongster's dream. In every child does Balder reappear; in each that is\nborn doth Hel restore her victim.\n\n\"But in each soul is also found the blind god Hoder. Evil is ever born\nblind, like the bear-cub; in darkness it enwraps itself, while good goes\nclad in shining robes of light. Loke still creepeth busily about to\nguide the hand of murder; with Balder dies the strength of heart and\nspirit, and anew the struggle in man's breast begins. Virtue sits\nhopeless mid the shadows, as the fair god in the darkness of the\nunderworld.\n\n\"So hath it been with thee, Frithiof. Passion and thirst for vengeance\nrose within thee, and Balder's temple sank to earth in ashes. Now thou\nseekest atonement; but knowest thou its meaning rightly? Nay, boldly\nmeet my gaze and turn not pale, O youth! But one atoner is there on our\nearth--his name is Death. All time itself is but a troubled stream from\nvast eternity; atonement came from the All-Father's throne to restore us\nthither purified. The high gods, too, have sinned. Their day of battle,\nthe Twilight of the Gods, is their atonement, and from their fall a\nhigher life shall rise. Ah, bloody is the day that sees their strife\nwith the powers of evil! The golden-combed cock that sits on Odin's\ngolden palace doth shrilly call to arms. Bursting his chains, up springs\nthe giant wolf from the abyss; the earth-enveloping serpent writhes in\nfury; boiling and foaming, the sea o'erflows the land; the whole earth\nshakes; mountains crash together; the Tree of Life groans and trembles;\nin terror flee the shades that hover about the path of the dead. On the\ncorpse-ship, made from the nails of the unburied dead, Loke, the wolf\nFenris, and the giant Hrymer ride to join the battle. On come the flame\ngiants, their swords gleaming like the red glow of the forge. Over the\nrainbow bridge they gallop--with a frightful crash it breaks beneath\ntheir horses' tread; the heavens are rent asunder; thunder peals sound\nfrom pole to pole; the shouts of terrified mortals mingle with the\ngroans of the dwarfs, who, pale and trembling, cower in their rocky\ncaverns.\n\n\"But already have the gods and heroes donned their shining armor, and,\nled by Odin, crowned with his golden circlet and shaking aloft his\ngleaming spear, over Vigrid's boundless plain they move in mighty train.\nThere arrayed against each other stand the hosts, and the strife begins.\nSpears hiss, swords clash, the battle-cries of gods and giants fill the\nair; the furious bellowing of the serpent and the howling of Fenris\nshake the dome of heaven. One by one the gods are slain; but not\nunavenged do they perish, for the powers of evil also fall to rise no\nmore, while from the flames of the world they rise to higher life. Aye,\nthough the stars fall from the heavens and the earth is buried deep\nbeneath the waves, yet newly born, the abode of man once more arises\nfrom the waters; a new sun shines on smiling mead and golden harvest.\nThen shall those golden runic tablets, lost in Time's far dawning and\ngraven with the wisdom of the gods, again be found amid the springing\ngrass.\n\n\"Struggle and death are but the fiery proof of virtue; atonement another\nbirth to higher life. The best, the happiest part of our existence, lies\nbeyond the grave-mound; low and deep-stained with guilt and error is all\nwe find 'neath heaven's starlit dome.\n\n\"This life, too, hath its atonement--dim type of that still higher yet\nto come. Earth is but Heaven's shadow; human life the outer court of\nBalder's heavenly temple. Decked with purple is the proud steed led to\nsacrifice--a symbol, rightly read, that blood is the red dawn of every\nday of grace. Yet by the sacrifice of no other may thine own guilt be\nredeemed. The wrongs that man commits he must himself atone for. The\nsacrifice All-Father demands from thee, more sweet to him than blood and\nreek of victim, is thy fierce hate and burning vengeance offered on the\naltar of thy heart. If thou slay not these, then little will this proud\narched temple serve thee. Not with piled-up stones mayst thou atone to\nBalder. First with thyself and with thy foe be reconciled; then,\nFrithiof, shalt thou have the bright god's pardon.\n\n\"Hear now, what wondrous news hath reached us from the South: there, so\n'tis said, was a new Balder, born of a pure Virgin, sent by the great\nAll-Father to lead man to atonement. Peace was his war-cry; his bright\nsword, Love; crowning his helm, the dove of Innocence. Pure was his life\nand pure were his teachings; dying, he forgave. Palms wave above his\nfar-off grave, but still his teachings spread from vale to vale, melting\nhard hearts, joining hand to hand, upraising such a realm of Peace as\nnever yet was seen upon the earth. But little know I of this creed,\nalas! yet oft in better moments dimly I gaze upon its streaming light,\nand loud my heart proclaims to me the time will come when it shall also\nspread through all the North. Levelled then will be our grave-mounds;\nlost in the stream of time our names, while other men shall flourish,\nother chieftains reign. Ye happier race, who then shall drink from the\nNew Light's shining goblet, I greet ye in the spirit. Hail! all hail!\nDespise us not whose eager gaze hath ceaselessly sought the radiant\nlight of Heaven! Scorn not those to whom the divine ray was still\nwrapped in veiling shadows! The All-Father hath many envoys--He Himself\nis One!\n\n\"Frithiof, thou hatest Bele's sons; but wherefore? Because, proud of\ntheir descent from Seming, Odin's royal offspring, they did refuse their\nsister's hand to thee. But 'birth is chance,' thou sayst, 'not merit.'\nKnow, my son, man ever boasts of fortune, not of merit. Thou art proud\nof thy strength and of thy glorious deeds; but didst thou give thyself\nthis force? Was it not Thor who strung thy sinewy arm firm as the oak\nlimb? Is it not God-sprung courage that throbs so joyously within thy\nbreast? Beside thy cradle the Norns sang hero-songs to thee. Thus are\nthy noblest gifts no merit, but thy fortune,--of no more worth than that\nof which the princes boast. Condemn not, judge not, others' pride,--then\nnone will judge thine own. King Helge is no more--\"\n\n\"What! Helge dead!\" cried Frithiof, starting. \"Where and how came he to\nhis death?\"\n\n\"While thou,\" continued the high priest, \"wert building here this\ntemple, he, as thou knowest, did undertake a foray 'gainst the Finns.\nWithin their borders, on a barren mountain-peak there stood an ancient\ntemple of the heathen Jumala. It was closed and abandoned, and none for\nmany years had ever crossed its threshold. Above the portal, tottering\nto its fall as it appeared, was placed an idol of the god, and an old\ntradition handed down from sire to sire said, whoever first should enter\nin the temple should Jumala behold. No sooner did Helge hear this than,\nblind with rage, he scaled the barren steep, bent on destroying the\nhated deity's abode. He found the key still in the door, thick covered\no'er with rust. Grasping the moss-grown posts he shook them fiercely,\nand thereupon, with tremendous crash, down plunged the image of the\nheathen god; and thus did Helge view the dreaded Jumala.\n\n\"Now Halfdan rules alone. Give him thy hand, brave Frithiof. Sacrifice\nthy hatred in this holy shrine. Thus saith Balder, and I his high priest\nthis demand of thee. Refuse, and vain will be thy efforts to avert his\ngodlike wrath.\"\n\nHere Halfdan entered through the doorway and with doubtful glance\nlingered on the threshold of the temple. But Frithiof unbuckled\nAngurvadel from his side and placed it with his shield against the\naltar. Unarmed he approached his enemy and said kindly:\n\n\"In this strife he is noblest who first doth offer his hand in pledge of\npeace.\"\n\nFlushing deeply, Halfdan doffed his iron gauntlet, and with a firm\nhand-clasp the two heroes sealed their reconciliation. Now the high\npriest removed the curse that had rested on Frithiof since the burning\nof the temple, and as he joyfully raised his head, no longer an outlaw,\nlo! Ingeborg entered, radiant in her bridal garments and robed in royal\nermine. With tears in her beautiful eyes, she sank trembling in her\nbrother's arms, but Halfdan tenderly transferred his burden to\nFrithiof's faithful breast; and kneeling before the altar of the\npardoning Balder, with joined hands the long-parted lovers sealed their\nnuptial vows.\n\n\n\n\n                     LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE\n\n                     _Translated from the German by\n                            George P. Upton_\n\n                           _16 Volumes Ready_\n\n  Beethoven\n  Mozart\n  Bach\n  Haydn\n  Maid of Orleans\n  The Little Dauphin\n  Frederick the Great\n  Maria Theresa\n  William of Orange\n  Barbarossa\n  William Tell\n  The Swiss Heroes\n  Hermann and Thusnelda\n  Gudrun\n  The Nibelungs\n  The Frithiof Saga\n\n                   _Each, illustrated, 60 cents net_\n                      A. C. McCLURG & CO., CHICAGO\n\n\n\n\n                     LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE\n\n\n                         _BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCES\n                     TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY_\n                            GEORGE P. UPTON\n\n_A new, interesting, and very useful series that will be found\nespecially suitable for school libraries and for supplementary reading_\n\n\nThe books in this series are translated from the German, because in that\ncountry a specialty is made of really desirable reading for the young.\nSixteen titles are now ready and more will follow.\n\nTheir simplicity and accuracy make them very useful for every school\nlibrary in the grades.\n\nFor parents who feel disposed to give their children books that provide\na mild element of historical information, as well as first-class\nentertainment, the little books will prove a veritable find.\n\nThe \"life-stories\" retain the story form throughout, and embody in each\nchapter a stirring event in the life of the hero or the action of the\ntime. The dramatis person\u00e6 are actual characters, and the facts in the\nmain are historically correct. They are therefore both entertaining and\ninstructive, and present biography in its most attractive form for the\nyoung.\n\n          A FULL LIST OF THE TITLES IS GIVEN ON THE NEXT PAGE\n\nThe work of translation has been done by Mr. George P. Upton, whose\n\"Memories\" and Lives of Beethoven, Haydn, and Liszt, from the German of\nMax Muller and Dr. Nohl, have been so successful.\n\n _Each is a small square 16mo in uniform binding, with from one to four\n                   illustrations. Each 60 cents net._\n\n\n\n\n                     LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE\n\n                         _FULL LIST OF TITLES_\n\n  Barbarossa\n  Herman & Thusnelda\n  William of Orange\n  Beethoven\n  Mozart\n  Joseph Haydn\n  Johann Sebastian Bach\n  Maria Theresa\n  Gudrun\n  Swiss Heroes\n  The Nibelungs\n  Frithiof Saga\n  The Maid of Orleans\n  William Tell\n  Frederick the Great\n  The Little Dauphin\n\n  \"These narratives have been well calculated for youthful minds past\n  infancy, and Mr. Upton's version is easy and idiomatic.\"--_The\n  Nation._\n\n  \"He is a delightful writer, clearness, strength, and sincerity marking\n  everything to which he puts his hand. He has translated these little\n  histories from the German in a way that the reader knows has conserved\n  all the strength of the original.\"--_Chicago Evening Post._\n\n  \"They are written in simple, graphic style, handsomely illustrated,\n  and will be read with delight by the young people for whose benefit\n  they have been prepared.\"--_Chicago Tribune._\n\n  \"The work of translation seems to have been well done, and these\n  little biographies are very well fitted for the use of young\n  people.... The volumes are compact and neat, and are illustrated\n  sufficiently but not too elaborately.\"--_Springfield Republican._\n\n  \"These books are most entertaining and vastly more wholesome than the\n  story books with which the appetites of young readers are for the most\n  part satisfied.\"--_Indianapolis Journal._\n\n               _OF ALL BOOKSELLERS OR OF THE PUBLISHERS_\n                      A. C. McCLURG & CO., CHICAGO\n\n\n\n\n                          Transcriber's Notes\n\n\n--Copyright notice provided as in the original--this e-text is public\n  domain in the country of publication.\n\n--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the\n  HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)\n\n--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and\n  dialect unchanged.","title":"The Frithiof Saga","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":19524}