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FRITHIOF’S SAGA 164
Gaze not on her form so slender, on her bosom full and
white;
Shun to watch the rose and lily on her soft cheek varying,
Hark not to the voice beloved, breathing like the sighs of
spring.
Now the hunter’s troop is ready. Hallo! over hill and dale
Horns reecho; eager falcons climb aloft to Odin’s hall:
All the forest beasts affrighted seek their distant lairs in
fear;
But with lance outstretched before her, their Valkyria
follows near.
Ring the aged cannot follow as the chase speeds swiftlyon,
Sorrowful and silent by him rideth Frithiof alone.
Gloomy, mournful recollections all his soul with anguish
tear,
And, wherever he can turn him, hears he echoes of despair.
"Wherefore fled I from the ocean, to mine own
destruction blind?
Sorrow thrives not on the billow, far’t is blown by
heaven’s wind.
If Viking broodeth, danger comes, and bids him to the
sprightly dance,
And his gloomy bodings vanish, blinded by his weapon’s
glance.
"Far otherwise’t is here: for grief unspeakable has thrown
Her dark wings round my forehead; like a dreamer pass
I on:
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