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j FRITHIOF’S SAGA 98
Itself a star upon the azure deep:
But, by the roots uptorn, it drifts away,
A faded leaf upon the desert wave.
Last night—and oh! a wretched night it was—
Anxious as watch’d I, and thou earnest not,
Thoughts all-terrific, offspring of the night,
The raven-locked, passed constantly before
My waking eyes, which burned, but could not weep.
Balder himself, the bloodless god, did seem
To bend upon me glances filled with rage.
And so, last night, I have revolved my fate,
And thus determined; I will linger here,
Submissive victim to my brother’s will.
Yet it is well that then I had not heard
Thy hope-breathed dreams of cloud-imagined isles,
Where ever glows the heavenly sunset’s light
O’er flow’ry lands of tranquil peace and love.
How few can tell how weak we are; the dreams
Of childhood, long-forgotten, rise anew
And whisper in my ear with gentle tones
As well remembered as a sister’s voice,—
As sweet and tender as a lover’s tones.
But now I will not hearken, will not heed
Those sweet, persuading, once beloved words!
Can I, the Northland’s child, there southwards dwell ?
I am too pale for southern roses’ bloom:
Too colorless my thought for Southland’s glow.
It would be melted ’neath its burning sun;
And longingly my weary eye would strain
Towards the bright north-star, which unchanging keeps
Its heavenly watch above our fathers’ graves.
My noble Frithiof shall not fly away
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