Classic Poem

INGEBORG .

The morning breaks, and Frithiof comes not yet;
'Twas yestermorn the royal council met
By Bele's sepulchre, well chosen spot!
For there, I ween, was seal'd his daughter's lot.
Ah! I have shed full many bitter tears,
And offer'd up to Freya earnest prayers,
To melt the hate that burns in Frithiof's breast,
And from him a reluctant promise wrest,
To give his hand to Helge once again,
In sign of peace; but man is proud and vain; —
And for his honor (thus he calls his pride)
A woman's grief he ever would deride:
Why should she cling so fondly to his breast?
Go ask the moss, on which thy foot is press'd,
Why it adheres so closely to the rock,
Whose iron surface but appears to mock
The feeble efforts by those tendrils shown,
To fix their roots within a barren stone, —
While all their food is drawn from night's cold tears alone.
'Twas yestermorn they met to seal my fate,
And yestersun, when setting in his state,
Confirm'd my doom: why comes not Frithiof here?
See, one by one, the pale stars disappear,
And as I watch those fading orbs depart,
Each hope expires within my bleeding heart:
Why speak of hope? Valhalla's gods on high
Protect me not: I dared their power defy.
To pious Balder was my fate resign'd —
Well may he view me now with alter'd mind!
Can mortal love seem pure to his bright eye,
Who dwells immortal in yon radiant sky?
Must not a mere terrestrial love profane
The holy shrine where Balder's glories reign?
Beneath his sacred dome I Frithiof saw;
This is my crime: I sinn'd against no law.
Why should a god of gentle spirit now,
View with displeasure on his alter'd brow,
The fond affection of a virgin's heart —
Of her whose love is void of guile or art, —
Pure as the wave of Urda's crystal stream,
And innocent as Gefion's morning dream?
The sun in all his majesty and might,
Turns not from lovers his benignant light.
And e'en the Night, the widow of bright Day,
Bids not the moon withdraw her silver ray,
But listens gently to their tender vow.
And why should joys the glorious heavens allow,
Be deem'd impure within a temple's wall?
I Frithiof love, — nor can my thoughts recall
The hour or day when first I felt this flame;
I know not how, nor whence this feeling came,
And almost fancy it was born with me.
As we the fruit each year successive see
Form round the nut, and swell, and gather force
From each bright ray the sun throws in his course —
(Its golden food!) thus I can also prove
I grew and ripen'd round the nut of love.
'Tis for this love I now exist alone, —
What would the fruit be, if the core were gone?
Balder! great god! receive this vow of mine!
My heart was pure when I approach'd thy shrine,
And I will leave it with as pure a flame.
I'll fearless pass, Bifrost, thy bridge of fame;
With my fond love before the gods appear,
And in Valhalla it shall shine as clear
As any child of Asas there in view,
Whose golden buckler may reflect its hue:
With pure and dove-like wings it then shall fly
Across the blue empyreal vault on high,
To seek for refuge in Alfader's breast;
From thence it sprang, and there should ever rest.
But why, oh Balder! did thy brow e'er lower —
That brow serene — in the soft twilight hour?
Asa! why frown on me? am I not thine?
The same blood flows within thy veins and mine.
'Tis Odin's blood — what should thine anger move?
My kinsman thou; but Frithiof is my love!
And him I cannot sacrifice to thee:
Why need I blush? my heart is surely free,
And not unworthy of the gods my flame:
One sacrifice alone I'll make to fame —
That of my happiness: oh Balder, say,
Will that suffice? no farther I'll obey,
Thus may a queen her mantle throw aside,
The gorgeous emblem of her regal pride,
Yet still remain a queen: yes! be it so!
The Asas ne'er shall cast their eyes below,
And blush for me: nought e'er shall change my will;
And as the hero rushes to fulfil
The task he would achieve, thus too shall I —
But lo! my Frithiof comes; how dark his eye!
How pale his cheek! my earthly doom is seal'd:
One glance has now the dreaded truth reveal'd;
My wrathful Norna has ordain'd my fate.
Be firm, my soul! Welcome, my love, tho' late:
I know it all thou need'st not speak it now;
Too well I read it on thy kindling brow.

FRITHIOF .

The blood-red runes canst thou not also view,
Of exile, insult, injury the hue?

INGEBORG .

Nay, tell me calmly all that pass'd; my mind
Can bear the worst: to sorrow I'm resign'd.

FRITHIOF .

To Bele's tomb I went: in solemn state
Assembled, on that spot the council sate.
Our northern sons in groups stood all around,
Completely armed, as warriors should be found;
The buckler on their breast, the sword in hand —
Worthy defenders of this warlike land!
As judge supreme was Helge placed on high
His brow was black, as fiercest clouds that fly
Pregnant with thunder, and as cold as night
The gaze he threw around; ill-omen'd sight!
There Halfdan too, still smiling by his side,
In jewels deck'd, with more than regal pride,
Play'd with the handle of his dazzling sword,
Steel ill accords with such a childish lord.
Straight I advanced and said: " The foe is near;
All may the echo of his buckler hear;
Helge! thy realms in fear and danger stand:
Once more I ask from thee thy sister's hand;
Grant this request, — my sword shall aid thy cause; —
Nay, ere thou answer'st, for a moment pause.
I now forget the past, and banish hate,
For Ingeborg thy sister is: thy fate
Depends but on thyself: be just, oh king!
And thou may'st still defy the arms of Ring,
And save, ere I for ever hence depart,
Thy royal sceptre, and thy sister's heart.
Here is my hand! by Asa Thor I swear,
I will from thee no further insult bear.
'Tis the last time I offer to relent. "
A thousand swords then flash'd their bright consent,
And as the bucklers echoed to each blow,
The sound ascended from the earth below
To heaven's high vault; well pleas'd the Asas hear
Those noble warriors give their verdict clear
In justice' cause; for thus should freedom still,
Boldly declare her true and righteous will.
" Oh give him Ingeborg, " each hero cried;
" Of our deep vale that lily is the pride
No sword can ever with his weapon vie,
Consent, king Helge, to this marriage tie!
Give him thy sister, and the contest close! "
My foster father Hilding then arose;
White were his locks, and white his flowing beard;
With due respect all men his accent heard,
His voice was mild, and gentle was his mien,
Yet his discourse was earnest, true and keen,
As, Augurvadel, thy unerring blow.
And next, when Hilding's accent ceas'd to flow,
Halfdan arose, and rais'd a suppliant hand; —
Helge alone withstood my just demand
Nought chang'd his will; our prayers were thrown away,
On stone thus shines the sun's warm, glowing ray,
But gives not life, — and Helge still remain'd
As cold, unmov'd and dark: he never deign'd
To turn on me his stern, forbidding eye;
And, like his visage, harsh was his reply,
A NO array'd in black: for Helge ne'er
Hath listen'd gently to a mortal's prayer.
" E'en to a simple bonde's son, " he said,
" I might consent to give the royal maid;
But never let theman who dared profane
Thy holy temple, Balder, hope to gain
Valhall's illustrious daughter for his bride!
Say, Frithiof! didst thou not, in guilty pride,
To that high temple bend thy footsteps free?
Didst thou not there the royal maiden see?
Oh! at that interview the blushing day
Conceal'd his form, and veil'd his sunny ray.
Canst thou refute this charge? say YES or NO ! "
One cry arose: " Oh say it is not so!
We'll trust thy word, and thou shalt have thy bride:
Speak boldly then! where is thy wonted pride,
Oh son of Thorsten? nobler is thy fame
Than royal birth, and we'll support thy claim.
Say NO ! say NO ! and Ingeborg's thine own. "
" My happiness, " I said, " depends alone
On the first word I speak: yet, fear not, king,
From Frithiof's lips a lie shall never spring.
Not e'en the maid whom I so fondly love,
Not all Valhalla's promised joys above,
Shall tempt me e'er truth's accent to deny.
Yes! it is true, — beneath great Balder's eye,
And in his temple, I thy sister saw;
But, Helge, I infring'd no human law;
Still less did I profane his holy shrine;
I could not thus offend the powers divine.
We met, I own, at the decline of day — "
Such were my words: no further could I say,
So wild the cries that instantly resound
From all the warriors as they stood around.
Those near me started back: could they then trace
A plague spot on my brow? imbecile race!
I vainly gaz'd those heroes now to seek,
Whose firm resolve late glow'd upon their cheek:
They now were pale, their beating hearts were cold,
'Twas superstition chang'd these warriors bold,
Into such trembling, senseless dotards now.
King Helge triumphs, and his accents flow
Harsh as the Vala's, when she sung the tale
To Odin, from her sacred leaves, and pale
And stern, foretold the Asas' overthrow,
And Hela's victory, that source of woe.
These were his words: — " In this heroic land,
Such crimes or death or banishment demand
Our father's laws are on this point most clear,
But mercy's voice, like Balder, will I hear;
That god whose temple thou hast dared defile.
Far in the western sea, there is an isle
Where jarl Angantyr holds his regal sway,
(And other islands too his laws obey),
While Bele liv'd, Angantyr paid each year
A tribute, token doubtless of his fear.
But since our father sleeps in yonder grave,
To us the jarl no tribute ever gave.
To seek that treasure o'er the bounding sea,
Such be the task I now impose on thee! "
Then turning to his men, with bitter sneer,
He further spoke, " The jarl, my friends, I hear,
E'en like a miser doats upon his gold,
And guards it like that dragon fierce of old.
But who our youthful Sigurd can withstand,
Fell Fafner's victor, with his iron hand?
There, Frithiof, go! this will more courage prove,
Than maids seducing in great Balder's grove.
Let us in summer thy return behold,
With all thy fame, but also with the gold.
Now strain each nerve, for should thy efforts fall,
Ne'er hope towards Norway's land to bend thy sail!
Thy native soil thou ne'er must tread again,
But live for ever on the stormy main.
Nor is this all, thy further sentence hear!
The name of Nidding thou must henceforth bear. "
He spake, and straight the council he dissolv'd.

INGEBORG .

Now tell me, Frithiof, what thou hast resolv'd?

FRITHIOF .

How? has thy brother left me then a choice?
He knows I must obey stern honor's voice,
And seek that tribute, should Angantyr bold
In Nastrand's gulf have hid his darling gold.
This day I go.

INGEBORG .

And leave me here to sigh
Alone?

FRITHIOF .

No! thou shalt with thy lover fly.

INGEBORG .

Alas, my friend! that must not — cannot be!

FRITHIOF .

My Ingeborg! oh, listen now to me —
A moment listen ere thou shalt reply!
Nay, sigh not thus, and raise thy drooping eye!
Helge may be mistaken in his end,
For jarl Angantyr was my father's friend,
As well as Bele's; and perhaps his hand
Will freely yield the treasure I demand
Should he refuse, I have my trusty sword,
And that shall plead, as ever, for its lord.
I'll send thy brother his much valued gold,
And we'll be free; we will not thus be sold,
As bleeding victims to a monarch's pride,
Oh Ingeborg! consent to be my bride!
We then will hoist Ellida's flag on high,
And swift as lightning o'er the ocean fly,
We'll seek some shore, when weary of the sea,
Where exil'd love may wave his pinions free.
What is to me this cold, bleak, northern sky?
What are the men who fear to lift their eye,
If but a priest his moody will declare,
E'en while they boldly, insolently dare
To strike the blow they know must give me pain:
I swear, by Freya, all their hopes are vain.
None but a slave is tether'd to the ground
Where first he breath'd; my step shall ever bound,
Free as the winds that fill Ellida's sail,
What terrors can a free-born man assail,
Who was a warrior even from his birth?
One handful of the soil, the sacred earth
That covers Thorsten's and king Bele's grave,
Is all I ask to carry o'er the wave;
That lov'd memorial to our ship we'll bear,
And watch it ever with the fondest care.
And oft, on some far distant, foreign strand,
It shall recall our own dear native land.
Oh listen, love! we'll wing our rapid flight,
And seek a sun more glorious and more bright,
Than he who now, from our cold, cheerless sky,
Throws his pale rays on yonder mountains high,
But fails to thaw the everlasting snow,
That winters shed successive on their brow.
Yes, there's a heaven more brilliant to the sight,
Where the stars shine with more pellucid light;
Where midnight's breeze is ever soft and mild,
Like the sweet whisper of a playful child:
And there a blooming arbour we shall find,
For nature there is bountiful and kind:
Beneath the fairest blossoms we shall rest,
Love, faithful love still glowing in our breast.
My father Thorsten Vikingson hath told
Of distant regions, where, a warrior bold,
He strove some task of glory to achieve,
Some fair memorial of his name to leave.
Oft seated by the fire, in winter's night,
He talk'd of seas more placid, calm and bright;
The Grecian seas, with all their islands fair,
Their laurell'd arbours, and their balmy air.
A noble race once dwelt upon that shore,
Wellknown to fame: their temples held of yore
The mightiest gods that ever ruled on earth:
Oh, bless'd indeed was that proud nation's birth!
Those temples now are void and disarray'd,
No altar rises, and no vows are paid.
On marble steps the grasses thickly grow,
And flowers betwixt those massive fragments glow,
As if they would the antique runes efface,
That vanish'd fame, and wisdom past retrace,
The columns too, that once so white were seen,
Are cloth'd with moss and herbage ever green;
For the warm ray of southern sun so bright,
Calls all to life beneath its fervent light.
The fertile earth can her own harvest make;
No ploughshare need her teeming entrails rake.
The golden orange hangs on lofty trees;
The cluster'd grapes wave lightly in the breeze;
Of deepest purple is their colour bright,
And like thy lips, my love, they ever charm the sight.
In a small isle, exuberant and fair,
Another North shall spring beneath our care,
That shall recall the land we leave behind,
And the lov'd friends who still prov'd true and kind.
We'll oft together seek each sacred fane;
And those neglected Asas shall again
Witness the happiness of man below, —
The dearest joy that Gods can ever know.
And when the pilot, with his outspread sail,
(No fear of storms can there his breast assail)
Glides past our islet in the twilight hour,
And views, when near our fragrant, tranquil bower,
Another Freya from her temple shine,
In all her majesty and charms divine
(They call her Aphrodite on Hella's shore)
He'll stay his course that image to adore,
And gaze with rapture on her golden hair,
Then waving lightly in the evening air:
He'll mark her eye of soft ethereal hue,
Like noon-day's sky, so glowing, clear and blue.
And round that temple, ever sporting there,
The young attendants of my goddess fair,
(Her lovely progeny) shall sweetly grow,
Hang on her accents as they gently flow,
Watch her bright glance, and live upon her smile;
E'en like the Alfs, those beings void of guile,
Whose cheeks with blushes ever sweetly glow,
As if the roses southern climes bestow,
Should all their charms unfold on our bright northern snow.
Oh say! what joy on earth can thus compare
With the fond rapture of a loving pair,
Who, all devoted to each other, feel
They ever share in common — woe or weal?
With their affection nought can interfere;
Not even death need such true lovers fear.
Fortune herself will listen to their voice,
In all their joy and happiness rejoice,
And build a little Vingolf here below.
Delay no more; all words are idle now,
And but retard our bliss, oh, come then, love!
Ellida's pinions ever swiftly move,
The winds blow fresh to bear us from the shore,
Where superstition's voice all men adore.
We will not yield to that fell demon's power.
Come, Ingeborg! this is the final hour.

INGEBORG .

Frithiof, alas! I may not go with thee!

FRITHIOF .

Is it my Ingeborg thus speaks to me?
What dost thou mean? thy secret thoughts explain.

INGEBORG .

Frithiof! my flight thou urgest now in vain:
How blest art thou! for thou canst proudly stand,
Like thy own mast, erect; but in thy hand
The rudder rests obedient; and thy will
Can o'er the billows guide thy vessel still.
Alas! my fate resembles not thine own,
My doom depends upon another's frown,
On him, who ne'er will let his victim rest,
Until the knife be buried in her breast.
To pass the day in sighs, the night in tears,
Such is my lot; prophetic were my fears:
A monarch's daughter, sure, is never free.

FRITHIOF .

Does not thy father sleep beside the sea?

INGEBORG .

Stern Helge is my sire; for he does stand
In my lov'd father's place. Frithiof, my hand
On him must now depend. King Bele's child
Must guard her honor pure and undefiled:
She must not happiness in secret clasp, —
Although it now be offered to her grasp.
Say, what would woman be, if, in her pride
She dared the ties Alfader form'd, deride?
Ties that unite her to a firmer hand,
And lend the strength her weakness must demand.
She's like a lily of the water still,
That sinks or rises with the current's will
While thus it floats, in pure and snowy vest,
The passing boatman wounds its tender breast;
He heeds it not; the vessel hastens on;
The lily fades: but should its root alone
Cling fast to earth, that drooping flower again
May lift its head, and all its bloom regain
From the bright stars, its sisters of the sky,
And like a star itself on liquid azure lie.
But should it loose its hold, and far from home
Be tost by billows, it will soon become
A dry and wither'd leaf, and unregarded roam.
A woman also, Frithrof, needs a guide,
And must not wander from her guardian's side.
Last night, oh night of bitter grief and pain!
I hop'd to see thee, — but I hop'd in vain.
Reflection came, calm daughter of the night,
With ebon locks, and eyes so darkly bright.
Her form I view'd, and sought not then to sleep;
I could but wish for thee, my love, and weep
And Balder wept — that Asa ever kind —
His alter'd aspect spoke his secret mind.
I spent the night in dwelling on the past.
Frithiof! I'm now resolv'd; the die is cast
Beside my brother I will still remain,
And rest, as victim, in the holy fane.
Ah! it was well, right well for me, I ween,
Thou didst not then describe those islands green,
With their fresh flowers, and fragrant, balmy air,
Where peace and love reside, that heavenly pair
For had I heard last night, Frithiof, thy voice,
That gentle sound in which I still rejoice,
Relate the dream of our first childhood's years, —
We are so weak, I might, discarding fears,
Have follow'd thee, and human laws forgot.
Such is the chance that governs woman's lot!
Yes, 'twas a dream thou didst, in truth, recall,
But oh! how sweetly did thy accents fall!
Like the pure faith a sister might express,
Yet mingled with a lover's tenderness!
But no; that voice, those words I will not hear,
Nor list to visions — wild, although so dear,
Urge me no more, my Frithiof! 'tis in vain;
My will is fix'd; unchang'd it must remain
What should I do, a child of northern sky,
Beneath a southern sun's too fervent eye?
Would not my cheek a paler hue assume,
When match'd with roses that more vivid bloom?
Would not my feelings cold and chill appear,
(The whisper'd accents thou alone can'st hear)
When plac'd in contrast with the fiercer glow,
That southern maidens boldly may avow?
With fond regret I still should lift mine eye
To the clear orbs that shine in northern sky,
And watch, as sentinels, my father's grave.
Nor should my Frithiof, bounding o'er the wave,
Forsake the realm he promis'd to defend,
And which should ever on his arm depend.
He must not now his hero-soul disprove,
And yield his glory for a woman's love,
A life the bright sun weaves from year to year,
Calm and unchang'd, is woman's fittest sphere;
But for a man, and most of all for thee,
All things suit better than tranquillity.
'Tis when the tempest with most fury raves,
And drives with wildest force the heaving waves,
(That foam like coursers bounding o'er the plain)
And the stoutbark can scarce their rage sustain, —
Then, between life and death thus equal placed,
Thy path of glory should be ever traced.
That is thy element: talk not of Greece!
That smiling land, that land of joy and peace,
Would be a tomb for each heroic deed
That thou may'st still achieve: my warning heed!
For in that clime, like thy own polish'd shield,
Thy free-born soul, that ne'er to force could yield,
Would rust corroded with base idlesse. No!
Thou must not thus thy bright career forego,
Let scalds with joy repeat my Frithiof's name!
Let nought o'ershadow his immortal fame!
I would not that the laurel wreath should now,
On my account, be banished from thy brow.
Let not thy glory, gallant youth, decline,
But ever with augmented splendor shine!
We must with prudence our rough path pursue,
And to the Nornas, frowning on our view,
Yield due submission: let us nobly save
Our fame, my Frithiof, from the heaving wave, —
But all our dreams of happiness are o'er.
We part, alas! to meet on earth no more.

FRITHIOF .

Nay, speak not thus! a sleepless night, my love,
And idle terrors now thy bosom move.

INGEBORG .

That night my honor saved, perchance too thine.

FRITHIOF .

A woman's honor never can decline,
When nursed and guarded by her lover's flame.

INGEBORG .

Man loves not long, thy sex is all the same,
Her who has forfeited his proud esteem.

FRITHIOF .

'Tis not caprice that I can honor deem.

INGEBORG .

Can sense of right and duty, Frithiof, say,
Be call'd a vain caprice?

FRITHIOF .

But yesterday
Our vows of love, and this stern sense of right
Were not at variance.

INGEBORG .

But to-day the flight
Thou urgest makes them so.

FRITHIOF .

Necessity
Commands thee, — come!

INGEBORG .

To me
The voice of honor is necessity.

FRITHIOF .

Oh, see the sun now points his deepest ray!
'Tis noon: the hour will brook no more delay.

INGEBORG .

For me 'tis past; and here must I remain.

FRITHIOF .

Is this thy last resolve? reflect again!

INGEBORG .

It is my last resolve.

FRITHIOF .

Why then my knell
Is knoll'd: King Helge's sister! fare thee well

INGEBORG .

Oh Frithiof! is it thus that we must part?
Canst thou thus wound thy Ingeborga's heart?
Oh Frithiof! can thy brow so sternly lower
On her, the friend of thy first childhood's hour?
Canst thou no glance of tenderness bestow
On her whose tears for thee must ever flow?
And can no pressure of thy hand now tell
The full — deep meaning of the word farewell?
Or dost thou fancy I shall now repose,
Where blushing roses all their sweets disclose?
That I can with indifference see depart
The fond and treasur'd idol of my heart?
Or without anguish from my bosom tear
The hope which it has nurs'd with deepest care?
Thou wert my thought by day, my dream by night;
'Twas Frithiof's name bore all that gave delight
And all that great or good in life I saw,
Resembled him; his accents were my law.
Let not that image, once so fair and bright,
Assume a frown to terrify my sight!
Oh, be not harsh! I now must bid adieu
To all the bliss I ever had in view;
To all that I more dearly even lov'd,
Than the pure joys no mortal yet has prov'd,
The joys that in Valhalla we shall taste;
This world to me is now a dreary waste:
Say! must this sacrifice be all in vain?
And can it not one friendly word obtain?
Yes! thou dost love me, and must love me still,
(Such is the destiny we both fulfil);
From the first moment that I drew my breath,
My form must ever haunt thee to thy death,
And wander with thee on each distant land.
But oftentimes, the weapon in thy hand
Will drive pale sadness from thy sparkling eye;
She dares not o'er the boundless ocean fly,
Nor take her seat, by steel-clad warrior's side,
To drain the hydromel with victor's pride.
She ever flies the trumpet's loud alarms:
But when the night, with her cold, dewy arms,
Instead of mine, shall fold thee to her breast,
And sleep's soft hand is on thine eyelid press'd,
Oh! then, when darker shades still haunt thy side,
A pale, white figure will before thee glide:
Thou'lt know it straight, for once, in Balder's grove,
To her thy lips repeated vows of love:
She'll whisper then of happy childhood's days:
Oh, turn not, Frithiof, from her tender gaze!
Sad is her eye, and pale her sunken cheek;
But still to her with kindness, Frithiof, speak!
That sound will reach me, borne on twilight's wing;
Wouldst thou destroy the hope to which I cling?
My heart with deepest sighs must ever heave,
And nought on earth my sorrows can relieve:
Whate'er I view, thy image I shall see;
Where'er I rove, thy form shall rest with me,
All speaks of thee: the temple's dome on high
Recalls alone thy brow and sparkling eye:
The very God, on whom I gaze with fear,
(He may displeased my fond confession hear)
Resembles thee but, ah! so cold and pale —
Like the moon's ray upon a gloomy vale,
If towards the sea I turn my aching eyes,
I but perceive the track that ever lies
Behind Ellida in her course so true.
If I the forest seek, I only view
The trees on which my name thou once didst trace;
The bark in growing will those runes efface:
I've heard it said, by those who fate divine,
That runes thus cancell'd are of death the sign.
I ask of Day when last he saw thine eye;
I ask of Night when last she heard thy sigh;
But they reply not; e'en the bounding sea,
Ellida's home, when I inquire of thee,
Rolls her long surge against the stony strand, —
Sole answer to the tidings I demand.
Oh! that yon sun, when sinking 'neath the wave,
Or that the skiffs of Heaven, the vapours grave,
Would my fond greeting carry to my love,
And tell the anguish I must ever prove!
Thus shall I sit, sad, silent and alone;
No marriage vow my lips shall ever own.
And, as a widow faithful to her weeds,
My heart shall dwell on all thy glorious deeds.
I'll broider lilies on a cloth of gold,
Until at length one spring day shall unfold
Yet fairer lilies o'er my virgin tomb:
Yes, Frithiof, such shall be thy Ingeborga's doom.
And if a moment, to forget my grief,
I strive to find in harmony relief,
And from my harp a sacred measure wake;
Into convulsive sobs my sighs shall break,
And tears shall flow, as even now they stream,
To think that — all my hoped for bliss — was but a dream!

FRITHIOF .

Daughter of Bele! thou hast conquer'd now —
Oh weep not thus! my error I avow
Forgive my anger; 'twas but grief, my love,
Did for a moment thus a bosom move,
That could not long an unkind thought retain.
Thou art my Norna; and 'twould be in vain
To struggle 'gainst thy will: oh, yes! I yield;
Pronounce my doom! my lips shall still be seal'd.
And never, sure, did stern necessity
So gently bid a mortal live or die;
My rose-lipp'd Vala thou, with azure eye!
Yes, I will leave thee, since it must be so, —
But Hope shall soften e'en this bitter woe:
She shall conduct me o'er the stormy wave,
And not forsake me — even to the grave.
When spring returns, I shall again appear;
Helge himself shall then my wishes hear;
For this stern mandate then will be obey'd,
My crime atoned for, and my vow repaid.
Hatred itself can then no longer frown,
And I may ask — but said I ask? — why own
That I must humbly to a monarch sue,
When a far nobler path I may pursue.
Yes, I will then my lovely bride demand;
In full assembly will I claim thy hand —
Not from thy brother, — for I'll speak alone
To the brave warriors whom I proudly own
As our true northern sons: the nation now
Does represent thy father here below.
Daughter of kings! he who shall then oppose
The claim my accent freely shall disclose,
Must with his sword his purpose then declare,
And for the vengeance of my arm prepare.
Till then, adieu! thy plighted faith retain!
And think of Frithiof till we meet again!
Accept, as token of my ardent love,
This bracelet, which Vaulunder's skill may prove;
'Tis purest gold; and deep engrav'd, see there
The heavenly orbits trac'd by Asas' care.
How well it suits thy arm so round and white!
Ah, thus may constancy our hearts unite!
Farewell till spring! in peace, Valkyrie, dwell!
My life, my love, my Ingeborg, farewell!

INGEBORG

How firm his faith! how godlike is his mind!
His hopes paint ever the stern Norna kind;
The sword he points at her cold, iron breast,
And vainly thinks he can compliance wrest
From her who neither fear nor pity feels:
Frithiof, alas! no mandate she repeals:
She hastens on; thy prayers are all in vain;
For what to her is mortal joy or pain?
Nor dost thou yet my cruel brother know
In thy pure heart the thoughts could never flow
That govern him: with hatred he beholds
The strength and virtue that thy mind unfolds:
He ne'er to thee will grant his sister's hand:
No! he would rather by the altar stand,
And to great Odin sacrifice my life,
Or e'en to Ring now offer me as wife.
Whichever way I turn my 'wilder'd gaze,
On my sad heart Hope sheds no golden rays —
Yet I still bless her, for she smiles on thee,
While black despair alone communion holds with me.
Oh, may the Asas guide thee still, my love!
Nought shall thy bracelet from my arm remove.
The weary months I'll count upon it still,
That thou must pass this mission to fulfil:
Absence the months shall note with painful toil;
Two — four — and six — then to his native soil
Frithiof will come to claim his promis'd bride:
He'll find her sleeping by king Bele's side!