X.

FRIDTHJOF AT SEA.

On shore king Helge stood,
By turns he sang and prayed,
And in embittered mood
Besought the goblins' aid.

See! the heavens with darkness toiling,
Empty space with thunders boom,
Lo, the furious waves are boiling,
Ocean's surface hid with foam.
Lightnings now the clouds are streaking,
Here and there a bloody rand,
All the sea-fowls now are shrieking.
Hasting to the safer strand.

"Hard's the weather, brothers!
Hear the stormy pinions
Flapping in the distance,
Yet we do not pale.
Sit within the temple,
Think on me with longing,
Beauteous in thy weeping,
Beauteous Ingeborg."