Classic Poem

Now to the Ting! his course the courier fleet
O'er hill and vale pursues:
King Ring is dead; the people now must meet,
Another king to chuse.

Each peasant now his sword unsheathes; the steel
Glitters so bright and blue.
Now with his finger he the edge doth feel,
And finds it sharp and true.

The very boys cast looks of eager joy
The shining blade upon;
Now two by two they lift the dangerous toy,
Too heavy far for one.

And now the daughter must her work begin
The helm to polish bright:
But soon her own fair face she views therein,
And blushes at the sight.

At length his arm the buckler's weight sustains:
Its orb “a sun in blood.”
All hail! ye men of iron, free-born swains,
Ye peasants brave and good!

To raise your country's fame with heart and hand
Your efforts never cease:
In war ye are the bulwarks of the land;
Its trusty voice in peace.

With clang of shields and clash of swords and darts
Now to the Ting they hie,
Not wall-inclosed; 'tis open as their hearts,
Its canopy the sky.

Now by the stone, the centre of the Ting
Erect stands Frithiof bold;
And near him stands the infant son of Ring,
With hair as bright as gold.

“To lead the army or the law decide
That boy is far too young:”
Such was the murmur heard on every side
From the assembled throng.

But Frithiof takes his shield, and plants thereon
High raised the little boy
“Here is your king, O, Norsemen! he alone,
The country's hope and joy.

“Of Odin's race behold a scion true
In him and be content!
Upon the shield he looks as brave and bold,
As 'twere his element.

“His kingdom to protect I've made a vow
With all my might and power;
And place one day upon his royal brow
The crown his father wore.

“My oath, Forsete, Balder's son hath heard;
And if I swerve therefrom,
By his hand may I perish; and incurr'd
Justly will be my doom.”

But on the shield sits fast and firm the boy,
Like king upon his throne;
Or like the eaglet, when with dauntless eye
He gazes on the sun.

At length the sitting long upon the shield,
Fatigued his youthful blood;
And with one noble spring upon the field,
And on his feet, he stood.

Then loud was heard a voice from all the Ting:
“We Norsemen all with joy
Do chuse thee for our chief, be like King Ring,
Thou gallant shield-borne boy!

“Frithiof! rule thou the kingdom in his stead,
Till he becomes of age!
Jarl Frithiof! to the nuptial altar lead
His mother fair and sage!”

But Frithiof with a gloomy look replied:
“To-day a king we make,
And not a marriage: as for me, my bride
From my own choice I'll take.

“I must forthwith to Balder's grove repair,
My Nornas there to meet:
The meeting I myself have fix'd; and there
Must I those virgins greet.

“Counsel and comfort I would fain receive,
And they must answer me;
Beneath the tree of time they work and weave,
And eke above the tree.

“For woe is me, the wrath endureth still
Of Balder, God of light:
He took, and he alone can, if he will,
Give back my heart's delight.”

The newly chosen king he now embraced,
And bade a fond adieu.
Then mournful o'er the heath he stalked in haste,
And vanish'd from their view.