Bright shields from off the golden spool,
Here, red prevail the battle lances,
There, silver-stiffened armor glances.

Anon her fingers deftly trace
A hero,--see, 'tis Fridthjof's face;
And though at first almost affrighted,
She blushes, smiles and is delighted.

The birch tree's stem where Fridthjof went
Showed I and F in beauty blent;
As grew those runes in one, delighted,
So too those hearts in one united.

When Day invests the upper air,
The world-king with the golden hair,
When men to action urge each other,
They think alone of one another.

When Night pervades the upper air,
The world-queen with the raven hair,
When stars in silence greet each other,
They dream alone of one another.

"Thou Earth, who in the spring-time fair,
Bedeck'st with flowers thine emerald hair,
Give me the best; in wreaths I'll wind them,
And round my Fridthjof's brow will bind them."

"Thou sea, who mak'st thy dark caves bright