must die some time or other! Frithioff, though he avails himself of the proposal, is too much of a gentleman actually to decapitate such a conscientious antagonist-so they shake hands amicably, and go to court together, Aganthyr receives him graciously, and with a refinement of diplomacy, which might do honour to more civilized times, while he declines paying any tribute to Frithioff's master, gives him, as the son of his old friend Thorsten, a costly purse, full of gold, to be disposed of as he thinks proper. At this comparatively polished court, (that of Orkney,) the hero is courteously invited to pass the winterand complies. The first breath of Spring, however, wakes thoughts of home in Frithioff's breast. He thanks his host, and departs. "The west wind sighs in the sails like nightingales," and "Egia's daughters, the waves, leap invitingly before the rudder."-Here follow a few beautiful lines, descriptive of a wanderer's return to his native scenes. How sweet to the rover, from distant land, Where his childhood's haunts in the brooks are seen; Frithioff first reaches the land at Baldur's grove, but the falcon alone flies to meet him on the silent shore. It perches on his shoulder, from which no caresses can lure it,-flaps its white wings in restless anxiety, and seems to whisper in his ear, some fondlytreasured message; but its language, alas! is unintelligible. Frithioff next steers for his rich inheritance of Framnäs; but what a prospect awaits him there! He "rubs his eyes, and shades them as one blinded by the sun," for all before them is havoc and devastation. In vain he seeks the hearth of his fathers, or the cradle of his infancy. His home is a shapeless heap of ashes! His faithful dog Bran, and his milk-white steed, with the golden mane, "whose hoof is the rein-deer's, and its neck the swan's," come running up to him, and (familiar, but delightful idea! difficult to be rendered into English,) search his hands for the accustomed bread, which the wretched Frithioff, amid this scene of former plenty, has not the means of bestowing. While standing thus "shelterless,' beside his paternal hearth, he sees coming towards him his foster father, Hilding. He hails him, amid the ruins of Framnäs, bitterly remarking, that thus, in the absence of the noble eagle, base hands invade his lofty nest. He guesses the author of this desolation, the cowardly Helga, who, cruel as cowardly, had consoled himself, when flying as a fugitive before his conquering invader Ring, by committing to the flames the whole worldly goods of his absent ambassador. More painful tidings still, however, await poor Frithioff! The conqueror, having allowed Helga the option of atoning for his former contempt, by giving him his sister in marriage, or forfeiting his kingdom, Ingeborg had been, as a matter of course, sacrificed, and had followed her ancient bridegroom to Norway. The first emotions of the forsaken lover are too natural to be charged with injustice "Oh! woman!" he cried, with bitter smile, With the fleeting smile of an April morn, And lips that bloom but to be forsworn !" He continues his passionate invectives against the sex, and resolutions of a roving and desperate course of vengeance on the species, when good old Hilding places the matter in a new light, by an affecting account of poor Ingeborg's forced nuptials. He describes beautifully her silent dignified grief, confided to his parental bosom alone; "as the sea-bird, mortally wounded, seeks its kindred element to dye with its heart's blood." "A victim am I," she calmly sigh'd, May better atone for youthful years; When the pulse beats low, and the heart is dead! For pity to me were worse than life; But gently greet Frithioff-when he comes home!" He then describes her riding to her splendid bridal on a black steed, "pale as a ghost on a dark cloud." While she prayed long and fervently to Baldur, all around wept-she alone was calm. The cruel Helga, seeing her bracelet, the parting gift of Frithioff, snatched it from her arm, and hung it on the statue of Baldur. The old foster-father had drawn his sword to avenge the insult to his nursling, even on his sovereign, when Ingeborg, praying to be spared this additional pang, had committed her cause to the Father of all, who would sooner or later avenge her. "Vengeance!" exclaims Frithioff, transported with fury; "I, too, will taste its pleasures ;" and recollecting that Helga will soon preside at a festival, in Baldur's temple, he resolves, in his unhallowed mood, to attack him in it during the ceremony. The burning of the temple is a grand picture of the simultaneous fury of human passion and a devastating element. "The blood-red sun of midnight tarries behind the hill," and solemn twilight reigns around. The holy pile (Baldur's symbol) blazes high on the consecrated hearth. The priests, aged men, with snow-white beards, stand gazing on the flame, brandishing their stone knives in their ruthless hands. The king, his crown laid aside, keeps watch beside the altar, when the clang of arms is heard in the grove, and the avenging voice of Frithioff-surrounding the temple with his companions, and dooming its inmates to inevitable destruction. He thus defies the pusillanimous and shrinking Helga. Here is the tribute at thy behest, Our battle shall be without helm or shield, Eye not the door with look of despair, Think on mine heritage-think, beside, On the once bright cheek of my youthful bride! So saying, he, somewhat unceremoniously, fells the arch-coward to the earth, by hurling at his head the rich purse of tribute-money, brought at his VOL. XXIII. U bidding from Aganthyr. He disdains to pollute his sword with the blood of such a recreant, but perceiving on the sacred image the well-known bracelet, he flies with sacrilegious eagerness to resume possession of it. The gold and the arm seem inseparable-they long resist his efforts-at length they give way, but, in the struggle, the image of the God itself falls on the burning pile. All is instantly in a blaze. Hark! how it crackles! the flame mounts high, Biorn, pale as death, on the threshold stands, "Open open let all come out, Within there is fire-but without, to save, In vain does Frithioff, heedless of danger, sit amid his own wild work, directing undismayed the efforts of his companions. The devouring element conquers the red gold drops in the burning sand, and the silver vessels melt away. The consecrated grove shares the common devastation -the sun sinks red in a glowing sea-all is at length reduced to ashes -and Frithioff weeps, in the grey dawn, over his already repented sacrilege. Morning sees him a consciencestricken and sad fugitive; taking an eternal leave of his native land, and adopting the sea henceforth for his troubled dwelling and early grave. Helga pursues him with his ships, but no sooner does the fight become serious, than the recreant king swims ashore, and bends his bow, which, long rusted by disuse, fortunately breaks. Frithioff stands waving a lance, which he could easily aim at the King; but his shaft, like his sword, disdains to become a craven's executioner, and he leaves the caitiff to merited infamy. He then pursues his course, addressing a simple and beautiful adieu to all the objects familiar to him from infancy. Renowned North Earth's brightest star! Eve's radiant eye! thou Moon so bright, Keeping watch on high, in thy robes of light! With thy starry host-adieu ! adieu! Ye bowers so dear, where I loved to stray, With a blighted fame, o'er the wide, wide sea, But the heart says to joy-Adieu! adieu! Next comes the Code of the Sea-Kings, a curious document, probably strictly founded on tradition, and full of mingled heroism, rude honor, and doubtful morality, mixed up with no little worldly, or rather watery wisdom. A specimen will suffice. "Stretch no awning over thy vessel, nor build thee an house on shore, lest thine enemy surround thee unawares. The Sea-King sleeps on his shield, and the sky is his blue tent. When the storm is mightiest spread thy sail highest-let go, let go! He is a coward who furls-do thou rather sink in the whirlpool! Cherish woman on land, but banish Freya herself from on board; for her dimple is the most perilous of graves, and her flowing hair the worst of nets." Or thus in verse If a trader thou hail, unharm'd let him sail, Thou art Lord of the Wave-he to profit a slave, But the foe, if thou board, when fighting's the word, If thou yield'st but a pace-in eternal disgrace In conquest rejoice, but ne'er let thy foes' voice Know that Prayer, pale and mild, is Valhalla's own child, In the practice of this gentlemanlike, though piratical code, the champions "sail and sail," (as the old ballads have it,) till at length they reach the soft shores of Greece-and here poor Frithioff is painfully reminded of the happiness which he had in these distant isles endeavoured to induce Ingeborg to share. With these ideas all his love revives, and he can no longer resist his desire, after three years' exile, to know whether her memory is equally faithful, and how she lives with her old monarch. He is weary of renown, and loaded with despised gold; he pines for a sight of his father's grave, and of the tree he planted over it. The flag at his masthead points due north, and his heart hails the omen. Winter overtakes the mariners, and, urged by necessity as well as inclination, Frithioff resolves to pass it at the Court of Ring; to see once more his betrothed, and hear the music of her voice. Biorn, (whose ruder and more downright character is finely contrasted throughout with his friend's), concludes it can only be with hostile intentions towards his rival; and offers his services either, more piratico, to set fire to the old King's palace, and carry off his bride; or, to do the thing more genteelly, defy him and all his peers to single combat on the ice, and defeat them, of course. "It's a' ane to honest Dandie Biorn!" Frithioff, on the contrary, deprecates the very thought of conflict, and shudders at the ominous word "fire." Peace, peace, is now all his earthly ambition, and a solemn farewell to Ingeborg his sole object in life. Biorn, in undisguised astonishment that he should abjure war and glory for a woman, offers to bring him such precious articles in any number to choose from-remarking somewhat uncourteously, that the world, God wot, "is but too full of them !" Frithioff answers, that Biorn, wise as he is in council, faithful in friendship, and brave in peril, a true worshipper of Thor and Odin, is destined, sooner or later, to be a votary of Freya also; and advises him, not, by idle jests, to exasperate the goddess to exercise her irresistible power upon him. He determines, perhaps from well-founded distrust of Biorn's forbearance, to go alone with his good sword on his pacific enterprise; and bidding adieu to his friend, who swears to avenge any injury that may befall him, departs. Frithioff finds his aged rival and his Queen celebrating the festival, which, among the Pagans of the North, preceded that of Christmas,-" sitting side by side, like Spring and Autumn. He enters the hall disguised in a huge bear-skin, and leaning on his staff, like some ancient beggaryet "taller, even thus bent, than those around him."-He takes the poor man's place near the door, till, being mocked and pointed at by some of the young lords, he inflicts on one of them a chastisement, which draws the old King's attention. On being closely interrogated, he gives an enig matical account of himself, which so pleases the King, that he invites him to his table, and requests him to be more communicative. Frithioff on this casts his slough, and stands con- Northern warriors! And what does Ingeborg think? How feels the poor sacrificed bride? Then mantled the blood in her cheek of snow, The trumpet now commands silence, and the pious old monarch (little knowing who his new and highly favoured guest is) vows over the head of the dedicated victim, a gallant and gaily adorned steer-with the assistance of the Gods-to vanquish Frithioff, their common enemy. Frithioff, upon this, declares himself related to the threatened hero, and fling ing his sword on the oaken-table, while the hall resounds with the blow, swears, aided by it alone, to defend his cousin, if need be. The King, rather pleased than offended by his guest's plain speaking, only bids his fair wife "fill him a horn of her best wine," and invite the stranger to pass the winter. She fulfils her task in beautiful confusion. And as with eye averted, the horn she trembling pass'd, Frithioff, to her secret joy, drinks off at a draught a horn which no two degenerate men of the poet's day could manage. The songs of bards, and a deep carouse, conclude this ancient festival. The feast is succeeded by a sledge party on the ice, during which the old King, notwithstanding Frithioff's warnings, exposes himself and his consort in a very boyish manner; but the faithful guest skating beside the sledge, averts the danger, by lifting sledge, rein-deer, and all, backward from the edge of a fearful chasm, into which they were fast hastening. The King laconically, but expressively, praises the deed, by exclaiming that "the mighty Frithioff himself could not have done it better!" He returns to court ashamed, and winter passes without farther disclosure. Spring returns, the birds are twittering, The old King will go a-hunting, Yonder comes the pageant's wonder! |
