Classic Poem

Now, pushing back his chair, king Ring doth rise!
And scalds and warriors all
Stand up to hear his speech; they highly prize
Each word his lips let fall:
As Balder he was good, and eke as Mimer wise.

So fair his realm, the gods therein might dwell;
For ne'er the din of arms
Affrights the forest, glade, or grassy dell;
And all her blooming charms
There Industry displays, nor fears the spoiler fell.

See Justice, with her brow so stern yet fair,
Firmly the balance hold!
And grateful Peace brings annual tribute there;
And crops of wheaten gold,
Abounding on the plains, reward the ploughman's care.

Along the shore how swift the vessels ply
How white their outspread wings!
Approaching home, more rapid now they fly,
And every vessel brings
Gold, silks, and jewels rare, with beauty's glance to vie.

And Peace and Liberty there dwell combin'd,—
To northern champions dear
King Ring essays their union to bind,
For 'tis his wish sincere,
That each man at the Ting should freely speak his mind.

Full thirty winters now had govern'd Ring
His land with upright sway
None sought in vain the justice of their king;
And at each close of day,
To bear his name on high, Prayer lends her gentle wing.

Ring pusheth back his chair, and all arise
To listen to their king,
So far-famed in the north, so good, so wise!
But say why aged Ring
Pauses a moment now, and draws his breath with sighs?

“My queen now sits aloft in Folkvang's bower;
But here below, her tomb
Is cover'd o'er with grass; and many a flower
Around it breathes perfume,
While o'er her lov'd remains falls many a genial shower.

“To find a queen like her who is no more
Were vain; she was my joy
And pride; but though her memory I adore,
My realm and infant boy
Demand a mother's care, their comfort to restore.

“King Bele, who, when summer breezes play'd,
Came often to this land,
Hath, dying, left a daughter: will that maid
Accept my proffer'd hand?
She like the lily blooms, that decks the flow'ry glade.

“Yes! she is young, and flowers alone delight
The jocund mind of youth;
My leaf is sear'd, alas! and in his flight
Relentless Time, forsooth,
Hath strew'd my head with snow, and dim becomes my sight.

“But can she love a man whose heart is true,
Although his head be grey?
And will she deign my infant blossom too
To warm with genial ray?
Then autumn's hand shall crown spring's brow of roseate hue.

“My brightest gems, as nuptial presents, take
From out each oaken press:
And you, ye scalds, your lyres to life awake!
And let your lays express
The mingled hopes and fears that suitors' bosoms shake.”

The envoys now depart, while trumpets sound,
With gold and jewels rare,
The scalds too join the train; their harps resound
With many a martial air;
And now they stand in form king Bele's sons around.

Two days they wassel keep; the third the same:
But when the fourth arose,
The object they declare for which they came.
Their mission now must close,
And they to Ring their good or ill success proclaim.

Now Helge slays his falcon and his steed,
In th' grove of sacrifice:
He seeks the Vala, while his victims bleed,
For warning and advice:
He loves as priest to serve, and priestly counsel heed.

No favoring sign the falcon's lungs display;
Nor priest nor Vala move
Their lips: then, frowning, Helge answer'd “Nay!
This union to approve
The gods refuse, and we their mandate must obey.”

But Halfdan, void of care or thought, replied:
“Adieu! a long adieu
To banquets now! arms must the cause decide;
'Twill please me much to view
That Grey-Beard mount his steed, and stem the battle's tide.”

Enrag'd, their steps the envoys homeward tread;
The message they repeat
Injurious; but the monarch coolly said:
“The wings of Time are fleet,
And Grey-Beard will this scorn repay with vengeful blade.”

He strikes his buckler, as it hangs in sight
Upon a lime-tree tall:
An hundred barks bound o'er the ocean light,
With keels of copper all:
And, mix'd with helm and lance, high wave the pennons bright.

King Helge hears the clarion shrill resound,
And says with solemn air:
“Ring is a chief for warlike skill renown'd;
Beneath great Balder's care
I'll place my sister: all respect that holy ground.”

In Balder's fane, that maiden fair and true
Now sits alone, and weeps;
She broiders gold and silks of richest hue,
And mournful vigil keeps:
Her cheeks are bath'd with tears, as lilies are with dew.