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j FRITHIOF’S SAGA 165
Never can I Balder’s grove, or Ingborg’s loving oath
forget,
Sworn to me.—She never broke it; gods, in fury,
cancelled it.
"They, the race of man detesting, jealous view a fondness
blest;
My rose-bud sweet they snatched away, and planted it in
Winter’s breast:
By its bloom can Winter profit? Little knoweth he its
price;
While his frosty breathing covers bud, and leaf, and stem
with ice."
While thus he sorrowed, they their way into a lonely dell
had made,—
Dark and hill-surrounded, overspread with birch and alder
shade.
Ring,dismounting,quoth,—" How cool and pleasant doth
the grove appear:
Weary am I; let us rest, and for an hour I ’11 slumber
here."
" Here thou may’st not sleep, O King, for such a slumber
bringeth pain,
Up! The ground is hard and cold, full soon I ’11 lead thee
home again."
"Like other gods," the old man said, "sleep cometh when
we hope it least,
And surely to his host my guest will scarce begrudge a
little rest?"
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