XVI.

FRIDTHJOF AND BJORN.


Bjorn, I am weary of riding the sea,
Turbulent traps are the billowy fountains;
Northland's firm earth and her long cherished mountains,
Wondrous attractions, are calling to me.
Happy is he by his land unrejected,
No one denies him his father's green grave;
Too long, alas, have I wandered dejected,
Outlawed, afloat on this wilderness wave.

BJORN.

Good is the sea, your complaining you squander,
Freedom and joy on the sea flourish best;
He never knoweth effeminate rest,
Who on the billows delighteth to wander.
When I am old, to the green growing land
I too will cling, with the grass for my pillow;
Now I will drink and will fight with free hand,
Now I'll enjoy my own sorrow-free billow.

FRIDTHJOF.

Now hath the ice indeed chased us to land,
Close round our keel are the stiffened waves dozing;