XIV.
FRIDTHJOF GOES INTO EXILE
On deck at night In summer bright, Sat Fridthjof grieving; Like billows heaving, Now wrath, now grief, In his heart was chief; And shoreward turning Saw fires still burning.
"Thou temple reek Fly up and seek High Valhal's towers; The White God's powers Call down on me With wrath's decree. And tell, swift bounding, The vault resounding, The temple burned To dust is turned; The imaged glory But lives in story. Quick burned the god Like common wood. The grove protected Nor once neglected Since men swords bore Is now no more; By fire the slaying Not time's decaying. Forget no word Thou hast seen or heard, In Balder's dwelling The story telling, Thou message cloud Of gods the shroud. Long live in story King Helge's glory, Who exiled me From him and thee, My father's nation. We'll roam creation Where blue is king, Where wild waves sing. Thou canst not rest thee Ellide, haste thee; Earth's farthest bound We'll sail around. Soon thou'lt be rocking, The sea-foam mocking, My dragon good; A drop of blood Will nothing hinder As on we wander.
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."
In wrathful mood King Helge stood From death delivered; His round bow quivered, Though made of steel, As toward the shoal So hard he drew it, Though scarce he knew it, It clanging broke. Then Fridthjof spoke, His lance well aiming, While loud exclaiming: "A death-bird here, Enchained I bear: If once set; flying, Then low is lying Thy coward head. By Loke led Thy fear abuseth; My lance, refuseth
A coward's blood; It is too good For food so craven; Its worth be graven On funeral stone, But not upon A name which beareth The stain thine weareth. One exploit brave Sank 'neath the wave; The next one failed thee, Nor aught availed thee; Thy bow rust broke, Not thou. The stroke, When I aspire, Is set much higher, As thou mayst see 'Tis far from thee."
His carved oar limber Was fir-tree timber,-- A mast-fir tall, From Gudbrand's dale. Taking another, With both together He rowed amain; Like arrowy cane Or steel blade brilliant Were the oars resilient. The sun climbs up The mountain slope, The winds, advancing From land, to dancing In morning's light The waves invite. Where foam-crest swimmeth Ellide skimmeth On joyous wings; But Fridthjof sings:
"Thou front of creation, Exalted North! I have no station On thy green earth. Thy lineage sharing My pride doth swell, Thou home of daring! Farewall, farewell!
Farewell thou royal Valhalla-throne! Thou night's-eye loyal, Midsummer sun! Thou sky unclouded As hero's soul! Thou vault star-crowded! Farewell, farewell!
Ye mountain ranges Where honor dwells, Creation's changes Your rune-face tells. Ye lakes and highlands I knew so well, Ye rocks and islands, Farewell, farewell!
Farewell ye grave-mounds Where the linden showers Near azure wave bounds The dust of flowers! But time revealeth And judgeth well What earth concealeth; Farewell, farewell!
Farewell ye bowers, Beneath whose shade So many hours By brooks I've played; Ye friends of childhood Ye meant me well, I love your wildwood; Farewell, farewell!
My love is cheated, My home is burned, My shame completed, I'm exiled, spurned. From land appealing To ocean's swell, Life's joyous feeling, Farewell, farewell!