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Page 39
In fiercest storm
Art thou my home;--
The one I cherished
By Helge perished.
Thou art my North
My foster-earth,--
The other leaving
I wander grieving:
My bride caressed
In black robes dressed;
The one in lustre
I could not trust her.
Thou ocean free,
Unknown to thee
Is king oppressive,
Untrue, aggressive.
Thy king is he
Among the free
Who trembles never
How high soever,
With wrath oppressed,
Heaves thy white breast.
Blue fields are charming
And not alarming;
There heroes plow
With keel and bow,
And blood-rain showers
In oaken bowers.
The good steel blade
Is seed-corn made.
The fields bring yearly
Not honor merely,
But gold as well.
Oh, kindly swell,
Thou ocean billow!
Thee will I follow.
My father's grave
Calm waters lave
(How still he sleepeth
Where green grass creepeth).
Mine blue shall be,
Flecked like the sea;
Forever floating,
On tempest gloating,
And fathoms deep
Draw men to sleep;
To me thou'rt given
For life a haven;
My grave thou'lt be,
Thou ocean free."
Thus inly burning
Sang Fridthjof, turning
His prow so true
From seas he knew,
And slowly creeping
'Mid rocks still keeping
Their faithful ward
O'er shallow fjord.
But vengeance watcheth;
King Helge fetcheth
Ten dragons out.
Thh people shout,
With breath abated:
"The king is fated;
He offers fight,
We scorn his might;
Though heaven-descended,
His reign is ended;
From earth we know
He now must go,
The blood god-given
Now longs for heaven."
Scarce was it spoke
Ere keels of oak
By unseen power
Began to lower;
Then on and on
Are downward drawn
To Ran's safe keeping.
King Helge, leaping,
Is glad to swim
From the sinking stem.
And Bjorn, none blaming,
Laughed loud, exclaiming:
"Thou asa-blood,
The art was good;
No one detected,
Or e'en suspected,
I bored so quick,--
A worthy trick!
May waves enfold them
And Ran still hold them
As heretofore.
It grieves me sore
That Helge misses
False Ran's cold kisses."
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