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139 FRITHIOF’S SAGA
Quenching its fires afar amongst thy waves.
Each cloudship that sails through the sky shall bear
A freight of sorrow from the lonely one.
So in the maiden’s chamber will I sit,
A dark-clad widow, mourning for her joy;
Embroidering broken lilies in the frame,
Till Spring a newly-woven carpet spread,
Covered with sweeter lilies, o’er my grave;
Or, taking up my harp, my endless woe
Breathe forth in deepest tones of misery,
Or burst in tears, as now.
frithiof
Thou conquerest, child of Bele; weep no more;
Forgive my anger: ah! ’twas naught but grief,
Which for a moment borrowed anger’s garb,—
A garb which I can never carry long.
Oh! Ingeborg, thou art my Noma good;
The noble best nobility can teach;
The wisdom of necessity can have
Never a better advocate than thee,
Oh! lovely Vala, with the rosy lips.
Yes, I will yield before necessity,—
Will part from thee, but never part from hope.
Hope I ’11 bear with me o’er the western waves,
I ’11 bear it with me to the gates of death.
With the first spring-day will I hie me home;
Me shall King Helge soon, I trust, behold,
My vow accomplished, and my task fulfilled,
The crime forgiven of which I stand accused.
Then shall I ask thee, nay, shall claim thy hand
Upon the open Ting, ’midst naked swords,
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