Classic Poem

There grew, in Hilding's garden fair,
Two plants beneath his fostering care;
Such plants the North had never seen,
How gloriously they deck the green!

One like the oak-tree soars on high,
Whose trunk all proudly greets the sky;
While bending still, by winds caress'd
Its branches wave like warrior's crest.

The other blossoms like the rose,
Ere yet the vernal suns disclose
The charms that in the chalice dawn,
Though winter hath its breath withdrawn.

But storms arise and shake the earth;
The oak must struggle from its birth;
And the bright sun, with rays of gold,
The rose's bud will soon unfold.

In peace and joy, 'neath Hilding's view,
These lovely plants together grew:
And Frithiof was the oak-tree hight,
The rose was Ingeborga bright.

Didst thou behold them during day,—
In Freya's palace, thou wouldst say,
Are only found such beings fair,
With rosy wings and golden hair.

But when they dance in hour of night,
Beneath the moon's transparent light,—
Sure 'tis the Elfin king and queen,
Thus dancing on the meadow green!

He cons his task with eager joy,—
For he can now—that smiling boy—
To Ingeborg the runes impart,
And lessons that he learnt by heart.

She loves to skim the dark blue sea
In Frithiof's bark; and oft as he
Or reefs the sail, or now expands,
She claps with joy her small white hands.

No tree too high, no rock too bold,
When she a bird's nest would behold
The eagle's eggs and young he laid,
With joyful pride, before the maid.

No torrent could his path arrest;
How sweet to be more closely prest
By the fair maiden in his arms,
When foaming waters rous'd alarms!

The first bright rose that spring unfolds,
The first red cherry he beholds,
The first ripe ear that autumn yields,
For her he gathers from the fields.

But hours of childhood quickly fly;
A blooming youth, with flashing eye,
Now gazes on the maiden bright,
Whose charms full blossom to the sight.

He seeks no longer childish sports;
Unarmed the hardy youth resorts
To the dark forest, where the bear
Lies growling in his gloomy lair.

And breast oppos'd to breast they fight;
And Frithiof conquers; with delight
To Ingeborg he bears the spoil;
Forgotten are his wounds and toil;—

For woman loveth danger's task;
As plumes hang fondly o'er the casque,
When no light zephyrs rouse their pride,
Thus beauty clings to valor's side.

When during the long winter's night,
In the vast hall, while flames shine bright,
He sings a lay, or reads a story
Of Asas' and Valhalla's glory.

“Of gold,” he says. “is Freya's hair,—
It waves like wheat-sheaf in the air
But I know locks of brighter gold
That a more polish'd brow enfold.

“Iduna's breast is soft and fair;
It pants beneath a tissue rare
I know a verdant silken vest
That covers a far whiter breast.

“And Frigga's eyes are deepest blue;
Like heaven their soft and brilliant hue:
But I know eyes whose dazzling ray
Rivals the brightest vernal day.

“A sun-beam on new-fallen snow
Is Gerda's cheek: a maid I know,
And she, though but a mortal meek,
Can boast a far more glowing cheek.

“I know a heart as pure as thine,
Fair Nanna! poet's bliss assign
To thee, oh Balder! 'twas thy pride
That tender Nanna was thy bride.

“And if belov'd in death like thee,
One faithful maiden, true to me,
Would weep like Nanna o'er my grave,
Stern Hela's terrors I would brave.”

But Ingeborg, the child of kings,
Sitting alone a ditty sings,
Or weaves a woof of warlike scene,
Of ocean's waves, and arbours green.

On wool as white as drifted snow,
Woven in gold, the bucklers glow,
While red as blood the lances stream,
The coats of mail in silver gleam.

The tales oft change at her command;
But, as they grow beneath her hand,
Her heroes all bear Frithiof's mien;
She blushes, but is pleased, I ween.

And Frithiof in the forest roves,
And carves the name of her he loves
On many a tree; those runes proclaim
Their plighted troth and mutual flame.

When nature stirs, and men arise,—
When day first treads the azure skies,—
(The world's bright king with hair of gold,)
They still in thought communion hold.

When night rides o'er the fields of air,—
(Earth's mother with her ebon hair,)
And stars shine bright, and planets rove,—
They sleep, but dream of nought but love.

“Oh Earth! in spring 'tis thy delight
To deck thy locks with flow rets bright;
Oh give me those that bloom most fair,
To twine a wreath for Frithiof's hair!”

“Ocean! beneath thy waves profound,
In thy vast halls rich pearls are found;
Give me the fairest now to deck
My Ingeborg's still fairer neck.”

“Oh sun! first gem of Odin's throne!
Eye of the world! wert thou mine own.
Thy golden disk should proudly rest,
As buckler on my Frithiof's breast.”

“Oh moon! with chaste and silver light!
Lamp in Alfader's mansion bright!
I'd give thine orb, wert thou mine own,
As clasp for Ingeborga's zone.”

But Hilding says; “Beware, my son:
In its own sphere each orb must run;
Love's hopes are sweet, but often wild,—
Fair Ingeborg is Bele's child.

“Her race ascends to Odin's throne,
While thou art but a bonde's son
Vain and presumptuous, then, thy aim
A royal maiden's hand to claim.”

But Frithiof laugh'd: “I count my race
From foes I conquer'd in the chase:
I slew the forest monarch grim;
My glories all descend from him.

“A free-born man should ne'er despair:
He may the wrongs of fate repair:
No emprize is for him too bold;
And Hope still wears her crown of gold.

“All force is great, and kindred well
May claim with Thor,—that God doth dwell
In Trudvang, and he loves the brave;
A puissant pleader is the glaive.

“For my young bride, I would defy
The mighty thunderer of the sky
Woe to the hand, whose wanton power
Would rob me of my darling flower!”