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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
Frithiof Goes into Banishment
By Esaias Tegnér (1782–1846)
 
        
From ‘Frithiof’s Saga’
  
  [Frithiof, persistently refused Ingeborg’s hand, wishes her to fly with him, but she refuses. He goes to the Orkney Islands to fetch tribute to her brothers in order to win their favor; but on returning finds that she has been forced into marriage with another suitor, King Ring, and has gone with him to his country. Quarreling with the brothers again, he is forced to go into exile.]

HIS ship’s deck slight,
I’ th’ summer night,
Bore th’ hero grieving.
Like waves high heaving,
Now rage now woe        5
Thro’ his bosom flow;
Smoke still ascended,
The fire not ended.
 
“Thou free broad Sea!
Unknown to thee        10
Are despot’s glances
And tyrant’s fancies.
Where freemen swing
Is he thy king
Who never shivers,        15
Howe’er high quivers,
With rage oppressed,
Thy froth-white breast!
Thy plains, blue-spreading,
Glad chiefs are treading;        20
Like ploughs thereon
Their keels drive on;
And blood-rain patters
In shade th’ oak scatters,
But steel-bright there        25
The corn-seeds glare!
Those plains so hoary
Bear crops of glory,
Rich crops of gold:
Thou billow bold        30
Befriend me! Never
I’ll from thee sever!
My father’s mound
Dull stands, fast-bound,
And selfsame surges        35
Chant changeless dirges;
But blue shall mine
Through foam-flowers shine,
’Mid tempests swimming,
And storms thick dimming,        40
And draw yet mo
Down, down, below.—
My life-home given,
Thou shalt, far-driven!
My barrow be,        45
Thou free broad Sea!”
 
Day’s orb now shined
Hill-tops behind;
Fresh breezes bounded
From shore, and sounded        50
Each wave to dance
In morning’s glance.
Where th’ high surge leapeth
Ellida sweepeth,
Glad stretched her wings.        55
But Frithiof sings:—
 
“Heimskringla’s forehead,
  Thou lofty North!
Away I’m hurried
  From this thine earth.        60
My race from thee goes,
  I boasting tell;
Now, nurse of heroes—
  Farewell! Farewell!
 
“Farewell, high-gleaming        65
  Valhalla’s throne,
Night’s eye, bright-beaming
  Midsummer’s sun!
Sky! where, as in hero’s
  Soul, pure depths dwell,        70
And thronging star-rows,—
  Farewell! Farewell!
 
“Farewell, ye mountains,
  Seats glory for;
Ye tablet fountains        75
  For mighty Thor!
Ye lakes and highlands
  I left so sel’,
Ye rocks and islands,
  Farewell! Farewell!        80
 
“Farewell, cairns dreaming
  By wave of blue,
Where, snow-white gleaming,
  Limes flower-dust strew!
But Saga spieth        85
  And doometh well
I’ the earth what lieth;—
  Farewell! Farewell!
 
“Farewell, ye bowers,
  Fresh houses green,        90
Where youth plucked flowers
  By murm’ring stream;
Ye friends of childhood
  Who meant me well,
Ye’re yet remembered;—        95
  Farewell! Farewell!
 
“My love insulted,
  My palace brent,
My honor tarnished,
  In exile sent,—        100
From land in sadness
  To th’ sea we appeal;
But Life’s young gladness,
  Farewell! Farewell!”
 
 
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