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The Fridthjof's Saga: A Norse Romance on Ingeborg

Pmb 113 > StartThe Small Print!For Public Domain EtextsStart** > Fridthjof'S Saga.

For soon there grew in snow-white wool 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."

Pmb 113 > StartThe Small Print!For Public Domain EtextsStart** > Iv.

"And no one (nor could she her blushes hide) To whom my complainings I may confide."

By hawks oft affrighted away have fled; One pair remaineth, Let Fridthjof take one, one Ing'borg retaineth.

"She'll long like another her friend to see,-- And homeward returning will fly to me: Your message, bind it Beneath her flee pinion,--there none will find it.""

Pmb 113 > StartThe Small Print!For Public Domain EtextsStart** > Vi.

Pmb 113 > StartThe Small Print!For Public Domain EtextsStart** > Viii.

Not follow me?

Ingeborg.

           Ah! Fridthjof, thou art blest!

Thou followest none, but always in the front, The stem of thy good dragon ship, dost place Thy will beside the helm, to steer the way With steady hand above the wrathful waves. How widely different the case with me! My cruel fate is held in other's hands"

Pmb 113 > StartThe Small Print!For Public Domain EtextsStart** > Ingeborg,

Pmb 113 > StartThe Small Print!For Public Domain EtextsStart** > Ingeborg'S Lament.

Long gleamed his sail, Flying to westward before the fierce gale; Fortunate, Fridthjof to follow O'er the wild billow."

Buried she sleeps, Dead for her love's sake, or bleeding she weeps, Heart-broken, given by her brother Unto another."

Here on his hand~ 'Broidering I'll picture thee on the cloth's rand, Silvery pinions I'll give thee, Golden claws weave thee."

Vainly I seek Wings of the falcon, for mortals too weak. Only in passing death's portal Soareth a mortal."

Pmb 113 > StartThe Small Print!For Public Domain EtextsStart** > The Return.

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.'"

Pmb 113 > StartThe Small Print!For Public Domain EtextsStart** > The Reconciliation.