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Page 18
Hilding answered: "From the palace
I am come to you for solace.
Evil are the times at present,
You are all the people's hope."
Fridthjof said: "The foe encroaches,
Danger, Bjorn, your king approaches;
You can save him by a peasant.--
He is nothing, give him up.
"Fridthjof, anger kings no longer,
Lo, the eagle's young grow stronger;
Ring may thwart, their weak endeavor,
Thou wilt surely find it hard."
"Bjorn, I see you storm the tower.
And in vain your threatening power
'Gainst the castle is; it ever
Safety seeks behind its guard."
"Ing'borg sits in Balder's dwelling,
Grief her constant tears compelling:
She should make thee seize thy armor
She with tearful eyes of blue."
"Vain you strive my queen to capture,
Dear from childhood's days of rapture;
Best of all, there's nought shall harm her
Come what may, to her I'm true."
"Fridthjof, art thou still unheeding
All thy foster-father's pleading?
For thy foolish game art ready
I should go without a word?"
Fridthjof then arises, laying
Hilding's hand in his, and saying:
"My resolve is firm and steady,
And my answer you have heard.
"Go to Bele's sons and warn them,
Peasants love not those who scorn them;
To their power I bid defiance,
Their behests will not obey."
"In thy chosen way abide thee,
For thy wrath I can not chide thee;
Odin must be our reliance,"
Hilding said, and went his way.
VII.
Fridthjof's Happiness.
King Bele's sons may go requesting
From dale to dale the peasants' aid,
In Balder's grove my world is resting,
For them I will not draw my blade.
Then on king's vengeance or earth's sadness,
I will no longer look or think,
But only will the high gods' gladness,
From out one cup with Ing'borg drink.
While yet the hazy sunshine sendeth
Its purple rays on flowers at rest,
Like rosy gossamer which lendeth
An added charm to Ing'borg's breast,
With sighs along the strand I wander,
My soul with longing all aflame,
Upon the sand I gaze and ponder
And with my sword write Ing'borg's name.
How slowly go the lonesome hours!
Thou Delling's son, why stayest thou?
Hast thou not seen our mountain bowers,
Our lakes and islands until now?
Dwells there in western halls no maiden
Who waits since morn first kissed the sea,
Upon thy breast her joys to unladen,
Whose whole of life is love and thee?
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