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FRITHIOF’S SAGA 67
Black were her pinions, bordered with red, and when they
were bended,
Vied she in speed with the loud-roaring blast, outstripping
the eagle.
Saw ye her filled with warriors armed, your eyes would
have fancied
Then to have seen a fortress at sea, or the tower of a
great king.
Far was that ship renowned, and of ships the first in the
Northland.
These things, and many more, from his sire did Frithiof
inherit;
Scarce in the northern land was there found an heritage
richer,
Save with the son of a king; for the wealth of kings is the
greatest.
He was no son of a king, yet king-like, in sooth, was his
spirit;
Friendly, noble, and mild, with each day growing in glory.
Comrades twelve were around him, gray-haired, princes
in warfare,
Thorsten’s steel-breasted knights, with many a scar on
their foreheads.
Lowest of these on the warrior’s bench sate also a stripling,
Like to a rose in a withering bower; Bjorn was his title;
Gay as a child, but brave as a man, and wise as an old man;
Frithiof s comrade from childhood; blood they had
mingled together
(Fosterkin by northern use), and sworn to continue
Sorrow and joy to share, and avenge the death of each
other.
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