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XXIII
FRITHIOFS RETURN
Spring breathes again in ether blue,
In green the earth is clad anew;
Then Frithiof thanketh his host: again
He mounteth up on the heaving main;
And gaily his sable swan doth make
On her glassy course a silvery wake.
For the western winds, with the voice of Spring,
Like nightingales in his bright sails sing;
And the blue-veiled daughters of JEgir speed
His flight as they dance o’er the glittering mead.
Oh! it is sweet when from distant strand
The sails swell back to that native land,
Where the smoke from one’s own loved hearth appears,
And thoughts awaken of childhood’s years,—
Where play-grounds are mirrored in tranquil waves,
Where forefathers lie in their grassy graves;
And the faithful maiden, longingly
Standing on lofty rocks, watcheth the sea.
Six days he sailed, and the seventh shows
A dark-brown stripe, which larger grows,
And ’gainst the edge of heaven doth stand,
With cliffs, with isles, and at last with land.
His home, from ocean risen, is seen,
Its forests wide arrayed in green;
He hears the foaming surge’s shocks
Break on the marble-breasted rocks;
He greets the bay and the heights above,
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