Fridthjof's Happiness.


King Bele's sons may go requesting
From dale to dale the peasants' aid,
In Balder's grove my world is resting,
For them I will not draw my blade.
Then on king's vengeance or earth's sadness,
I will no longer look or think,
But only will the high gods' gladness,
From out one cup with Ing'borg drink.

While yet the hazy sunshine sendeth
Its purple rays on flowers at rest,
Like rosy gossamer which lendeth
An added charm to Ing'borg's breast,
With sighs along the strand I wander,
My soul with longing all aflame,
Upon the sand I gaze and ponder
And with my sword write Ing'borg's name.

How slowly go the lonesome hours!
Thou Delling's son, why stayest thou?
Hast thou not seen our mountain bowers,
Our lakes and islands until now?
Dwells there in western halls no maiden
Who waits since morn first kissed the sea,
Upon thy breast her joys to unladen,
Whose whole of life is love and thee?