Classic Poem

'Twas Jul; and in his chair of state king Ring sat drinking mead:
And near him sat queen Ingeborg, with cheek so white and red.
Autumn and Spring together join'd; in them each guest could see;
She was the fresh and blooming Spring, the Autumn pale was he.

An old man now knock'd at the door, and enter'd in the hall,
From head to foot in bearskin clad, and quite unknown to all:
With staff in hand, and bent with age, he tottering seem'd to go,
Yet was his stature taller far than all the rest, I trow.

He sat him down upon the bench the nearest to the door,
And that is now the poor man's place, just as it was of yore:
The courtiers whisper scornfully, and one did laugh outright,
While pointing with his finger at the bearskin cover'd wight.

The stranger's eyes flash fierce disdain; he rises, and in haste
With his all-powerful hand he grasps the courtier by the waist;—
As if he were an infant's toy he turns him up and down:
While many said: “He's rightly serv'd, and so should we have done.”

“What noise is that below? who dares the royal peace to break?
Come up to me, thou rash old man! I fain with thee would speak:
What is thy name? whence dost thou come? what seek'st thou in my hall?”
Thus to the ancient man, incens'd, king Ring did loudly call.

“Thou askest much at once, O king! yet will I answer thee;
But I will not my name reveal, for that belongs to me
With sorrow have I nurtur'd been; my heritage is want;
And from the wolf's abode I come, where dwelleth Famine gaunt.

“In former times my dragon's back how proudly I bestrode,
As o'er the waves with gilded crest and sable wings it rode!
But now it's wreck'd, and piece-meal lies half-buried in the sand,
And I'm grown old, and forc'd to live, salt burning on the strand.

“I came thy wisdom to behold, renown'd both far and near,
But with contempt they treated me, and that I could not bear;
I took a coxcomb by the waist, and twirl'd him up and down,
Yet he's unscath'd so pardon, king, the freedom I have shown!”

“Wise thy discourse, and courteous are thy words;” the king replied:
“Old age should ever reverence find; come! sit thee by my side!
But first thy bear-skin doff; and show the very man thou art;
Disguise to me displeasing is, but frankness glads my heart.”

Obedient to the king's behest, he let his bearskin fall,
And 'stead of an old man, appears a youth robust and tall:
Over his shoulders broad, and eke around his forehead high
His flowing locks of gold fall down in graceful symmetry.

With gallant mien erect he stood, in velvet mantle blue:
His loins were girded by a belt of silver, bright to view.
Boars, deer and foxes were engrav'd with wond'rous skill thereon,
And round the hero's waist they seem'd in eager haste to run.

Like harden'd lightning by his side his trusty sword hangs down,
And glitt'ring on his brawny arm the golden bracelet shone
Around the hall his eyes he cast with stern majestic air,
As tall as Asa-Thor in size; as Asa-Balder, fair.

How swift on Ingeborga's cheek the roses come and go,
Changing its hue like northern light, reflected on the snow!
As water-lilies up and down are mov'd on troubled wave,
Thus did the bosom of the queen with strong pulsations heave.

But now 'tis time to make the Vow, and borne along in state
Enters the roasted Boar, while horns his presence celebrate:
With apple in his mouth he grins, and garlands crown his head,
On his four paws the silver dish in pomp he seems to tread.

But now the king arose, and shook aside his locks of snow,
And touching the boar's head, he thus pro-claim'd aloud his vow
“Frithiof I swear to overcome, though like a God in war;
So help me, Odin! help me, Frey! and thou too, Asa-Thor!”

A sneering laugh from Frithiof bursts, when this discourse he hears;
And a faint gleam of rising wrath on his stern front appears:
With the pummel of his falchion fell so loud he struck the board,
Each champion started up alarm'd, and grasp'd in haste his sword.

“Now to my vow, I prithee, king, a courteous ear incline!
Young Frithiof I know right well; he's much a friend of mine.
I swear against the world in arms in Frithiof's cause to fight:
So help me, Nornas! and thou too, my sword, defend the right!”

The king now scann'd him well, and said: “Thy speech is bold and proud;
Yet in the hall of northern kings free-speaking is allow'd.
Fill high his cup with wine, oh, queen, and give him of the best!
The gallant stranger will, I hope, this winter be our guest.”

And now the queen lifts up the horn; with wine she fills it full;
It was an ornament of cost, form'd of the wild bull's skull:
Of solid silver was its stem; thereon you might behold
Full many a rune of the olden time, engrav'd on rings of gold.

With down cast eye, and falt'ring mien, she hands the goblet fill'd
To Frithiof; but she trembled so, that many a drop was spill'd;
As setting suns their radiance leave upon the lilies bland,
Thus show the purple liquor drops upon her milk white hand.

From her fair hand he takes the horn with joyful ardent gaze:
Not two men could that goblet drain in these degen'rate days,
But at one hearty draught, without once drawing breath, I ween,
He empties all the horn's contents in honor of the queen.

And now the Scald takes up his harp, and strikes the golden strings;
Of many a tender tale of love in Norway's land he sings:
Of Hagbarth bold, and Signe fair; so soothing was the strain,
That e'en the rugged steel-clad chiefs from tears could scarce refrain.

But when he next of Valhall sings and of the Einherier brave,
Of all their sires' heroic deeds on land or ocean's wave,
The lofty strain each look inflames, each hand now grasps the sword,
While briskly circulates the horn around the festive board.

Full lustily that night they drank in th' hospitable hall,
And till the crowing of the cock carous'd the champions all;
Then stagg'ring forth they seek repose, by sleep and wine oppress'd
But to fair Ingeborga's bower the king retires to rest.