Fridthjof's Saga; a Norse romance by Esaias Tegner
page 95 of 162 (58%)
page 95 of 162 (58%)
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And only I saw her anguish sore.
She often said: 'I am but an offering For Bele's kingdom; who talks of suffering! The snow-drop fragrant, with leaf and vine To deck the victim in wreaths they twine. How sweet to die and escape from anguish! But no, in pain must I live and languish; For Balder's wrath will no rest allow My aching heart and my throbbing brow. But tell to no one my secret sorrow, I'd rather suffer than pity borrow; King Bele's daughter her fate may dare,-- But kindly greeting to Fridthjof bear.' The wedding day with its footsteps fateful Arrived at last. O, the day most hateful! To the temple marched in procession sad, The white-robed virgins and men steel-clad; A bard dejected the train was guiding, The pale bride followed, a black steed riding As pale was she as the wraith which sits On a storm-cloud black, when the lightning flits. From off the saddle I quietly took her, Nor at the temple door forsook her; But led her up to the altar, where Her vows she uttered in accents clear. She wept and prayed, on good Balder calling, While down her cheeks were the tear-drops falling. When Helge saw on her arm your band, He tore it off with an angry hand; |
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