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166 FRITHIOF’S SAGA
I ’ve known no joy but by thy side;
In every act and in every thought,
Thou wast the highest prize I sought.
As trees from earth together grown,
If Thor with lightning smite the one,
The other fades: if one grows green,
The other shares its leafy sheen:
So joy and care we’ve shared and known:
I never felt myself alone.
Now I am lonely;—thou lofty Var,
Who, with thy golden tablets, far
Dost watch each mortal vow t’ enrol,
Cease thy vain labor; burn thy scroll:
But lies to chronicle they serve,
And better fate doth gold deserve.
Of Balder’s Nanna truth is told, —
No truth can heart of mortal hold;
Man’s breast is filled with falsehood through,
Since Ingborg’s voice could prove untrue;
That voice, like wind caressing flowers,
Or strain from Brage’s harp that showers,—
The joyous harp no more I ’11 hear,—
I ’11 think no more of my faithless fair.
Where storm-winds sport I’ll make my pillow;
Blood shalt thou quaff, thou ocean-billow.
Where’er a sword grave-seeds can sow,
O’er hill or dale, my joy shall grow;
And meet I a crown’d king anywhere,
I ’11 laugh to see how his life I ’11 spare.
But should I find, where shields clash loud,
Some love-sick youth amongst the crowd,
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