’T IS time to tell how Angantyr, | |
| The earl, was seated then | |
| High in his hall of stately fir, | |
| Carousing with his men. | |
| Thence he surveyed, in merry mood, | 5 |
| The day-car as it rolled; | |
| Now cleaving through the purple flood, | |
| All like a swan of gold. | |
| |
| The window near, a trusty swain, | |
| Old Halvar, kept good heed; | 10 |
| One eye upon the foamy main, | |
| One on the frothy mead. | |
| Oft as the veteran’s dole came round, | |
| He quaffed till all was drawn; | |
| Then straight, with gravity profound, | 15 |
| Replaced the exhausted horn. | |
| |
| Now hurled, it bounded on the floor, | |
| Whilst loud the warder cried, | |
| “The billows, laboring toward the shore, | |
| I see a vessel ride. | 20 |
| Wrestling with death, pale rowers strain, | |
| And now they touch the land; | |
| And ghastly forms, by giants twain, | |
| Are strewed along the strand.” | |
| |
| The chieftain o’er the glassy vale | 25 |
| Looked from his hall on high: | |
| “Yon pennon is Ellida’s sail; | |
| Frithiof, I ween, is nigh. | |
| That noble port, that lofty brow, | |
| Old Thorsten’s son declares; | 30 |
| Such cognizance, brave youth, as thou, | |
| No gallant Northman bears.” | |
| |
| Swift from the bench, with maddening air, | |
| The Berserk Atlè flew; | |
| O’er whose gaunt visage, gore-stained hair | 35 |
| A sable horror threw. | |
| “I haste,” he roared, “intent to brave | |
| This sword-subduer’s spell, | |
| Who peace or truce ne’er deigned to crave, | |
| As vaunting rumors tell.” | 40 |
| |
| Then twice six followers from the board | |
| Rushed forth with fierce delight; | |
| They whirled the club, they waved the sword, | |
| Impatient for the fight. | |
| Thus storming, to the beach they hied, | 45 |
| Where Frithiof on the sand | |
| Seated, by spent Ellida’s side, | |
| Cheered his disheartened band. | |
| |
| “Conquest,” he ’gan, with thundering voice, | |
| “Were feat of light emprise, | 50 |
| Yet generous Atlè grants a choice, | |
| Ere luckless Frithiof dies. | |
| For proffered peace deign once to sue, | |
| Else all unwont to plead, | |
| Thy steps, myself, as comrade true, | 55 |
| To yonder keep will lead.” | |
| |
| “Though worn with conflict fell and long,” | |
| In ire, the Bold replied, | |
| “Ere Frithiof wear a suppliant tongue, | |
| Be the fresh battle tried.” | 60 |
| Then from each sunburnt warrior’s steel | |
| The lightning flashes came, | |
| And Angurvadel’s runes reveal | |
| Dark fate, in signs of flame. | |
| |
| Now on their bucklers, showered like hail, | 65 |
| The clattering death-strokes beat; | |
| Till, cleft at once, each shield’s bossed mail | |
| Falls clanging at their feet. | |
| Yet, proof alike ’gainst fear and ruth, | |
| They played the desperate stake; | 70 |
| But keen was Angurvadel’s tooth, | |
| And Atlè’s falchion brake. | |
| |
| Said Frithiof, “Swordless foeman’s life | |
| Ne’er dyed this gallant blade: | |
| So, list thee to prolong the strife, | 75 |
| Be equal war essayed.” | |
| Like billows driven by autumn’s blast, | |
| The champions met and closed; | |
| In mutual clutch locked firm and fast, | |
| Their steel-clad breasts opposed. | 80 |
| |
| They hugged like bears, that, wandering free, | |
| Meet on their cliff of snow; | |
| Grappled like eagles o’er the sea, | |
| That frets its waves below. | |
| Such force had well-nigh torn the rock, | 85 |
| Deep-rooted, from its bed; | |
| And, shaken less, the iron oak | |
| Had bowed its leafy head. | |
| |
| Big from their brows the heat-drops roll, | |
| Cold heaves each laboring chest, | 90 |
| Touched by their tread, stone, bush, and knoll | |
| Start from their ancient rest. | |
| Trembling, their sturdy followers wait | |
| The issue of the fray; | |
| And oft shall Northern lips relate | 95 |
| The wrestling of that day. | |
| |
| ’T is o’er; for Frithiof’s matchless strength | |
| Has felled his ponderous size; | |
| And ’neath that knee, a giant length, | |
| Supine the Viking lies. | 100 |
| “But fails my sword, thou Berserk swart!” | |
| The voice rang far and wide, | |
| “Its point should pierce thy inmost heart, | |
| Its hilt should drink the tide.” | |
| |
| “Be free to lift the weaponed hand,” | 105 |
| Undaunted Atlè spoke, | |
| “Hence, fearless quest thy distant brand! | |
| Thus I abide the stroke: | |
| To track Valhalla’s path of light, | |
| In arms immortal shine,— | 110 |
| My destiny, perchance, this night, | |
| To-morrow may be thine!” | |
| |
| Nor Frithiof long delayed; intent | |
| To close the dread debate, | |
| His blade redeemed ’gainst Atlè bent, | 115 |
| And aimed the expected fate. | |
| But reckless courage holds a charm | |
| Can kindred wrath surcease; | |
| This quelled his ire, this checked his arm, | |
| Outstretched the hand of peace. | 120 |
| |
| The warder growled, and eyed the cheer, | |
| Waving his staff of white: | |
| “But little boots our banquet here, | |
| That Hildur’s cates invite; | |
| For you must stand the savory meat | 125 |
| Untouched in reeking row, | |
| For you these lips be parched with heat, | |
| Halvar his horn forego.” | |
| |
| Now, brothers sworn, the former foes | |
| Have passed the spacious gate, | 130 |
| Whose valves to Frithiof’s view disclose | |
| Wonders of wealth and state. | |
| For planks, his walls’ rude vest, scant aid | |
| To exclude the piercing cold, | |
| Rich skins with glittering flowers o’erlaid, | 135 |
| Berries of pendent gold. | |
| |
| No central balefire in the hall | |
| With stifling splendor shone; | |
| But glowed within the caverned wall | |
| A hearth of polished stone. | 140 |
| No sooty clouds the roof defaced, | |
| The polished plank distained; | |
| Glass neatly squared the windows graced; | |
| The door a lock restrained. | |
| |
| For torch of pine, whose crackling blaze | 145 |
| Diffused a flickering gleam, | |
| From branching silver shed, bright rays | |
| Rivalled the solar beam. | |
| He saw the table’s ample sweep | |
| A larded hart adorn, | 150 |
| With gold-hoof raised for menaced leap, | |
| And leaf in grove of horn. | |
| |
| Behind the seated chief, serene, | |
| Appeared a virgin-form; | |
| So locks the star of beauty’s queen, | 155 |
| Soft, o’er a sky of storm. | |
| There nut-brown ringlets circling flowed; | |
| There sparkled eyes of blue; | |
| And, as a flower ’midst runes, there glowed | |
| Small lips of roseate hue. | 160 |
| |
| High on a throne of ore-clad elm | |
| Sat Angantyr sedate; | |
| Bright as the sun his burnished helm, | |
| As bright his gilded plate. | |
| His mantle, rich with many a gem, | 165 |
| Strewed the bespangled ground; | |
| Along whose border’s purple hem | |
| The spotless ermine wound. | |
| |
| He strode three paces from the dais, | |
| His gallant guest to greet, | 170 |
| And led, with many a gracious phrase, | |
| To honor’s nearest seat. | |
| “What place a comrade’s cherished name | |
| Might ask for Thorsten’s son | |
| Is thine, brave youth; the due of fame, | 175 |
| By peerless valor won.” | |
| |
| Now flagons from Sicilia’s store | |
| Their treasured nectar gave; | |
| Not Etna’s fire could sparkle more, | |
| More froth Charybdis’ wave. | 180 |
| “Come, pledge the memory of my friend, | |
| Be welcome pledged,” he said, | |
| “And let the brimming goblet blend | |
| The living and the dead.” * * * * * | |
| Whilst jest and social joys engage, | 185 |
| Swift the night-watches fled; | |
| Freighted with mirth, not fraught with rage, | |
| The golden goblet sped; | |
| A health to Angantyr they shout, | |
| At the close of each regale: | 190 |
| And Frithiof wears the winter out, | |
| Ere swells Ellida’s sail. | |
| |
