Glimpses of Three Coasts Part 25

The one growed up with the strongth of the oak; and the stem was as the handle of the spear, but the crown shaked in the wind like the top on the helmet.

But the other one growed like a rose,--like a rose when the winter just is going away; but the spring what stands in its buds still in dreams childly is smiling.

The storm shall go round the world. In fight with the storm the oak will stand: the sun in the spring will glow on the heaven.

Then the rose opens its ripe lips.

So they growed in joy and play; and Frithiof was the young oak, but the rose in the green walley was named Ingeborg the Beauty.

If you seen dem two in the daylight, you would think of Freya's dwelling, where many a little pair is swinging with yellow hair, and vings like roses.

But if you saw dem in the moonlight, dancing easy around, you would tink to see an erl-king pair dancing among the wreaths of the walley. How he was glad--

"Dem's the nicest vairses, I tink."

--how he was glad, how it was dear to him, when he got to write the first letter of her name, and afterwards to learn his Ingeborg, that was to Frithiof more than the king's honor.

How nicely when with the little sail, ven they vent over the surface of the water, how happy with her little white hands she is clapping ven he turns the rudder.

How far up it was hanging in the top of the tree, to the bird's-nest, he found up; sure was not either the eagle's nest, when she stand pointing down below.

You couldn't find a river, no matter how hard it was, without he could carry her over. It is so beautiful when the waves are roaring to be keeped fast in little white arms.

The first flower brought up in the spring, the first strawberry that gets red, the first stem that golden bended down, he happy brought his Ingeborg.

But the days of childhood goes quickly away. There stands a youth; and in a while the hope, the brave, and the fire is standing in his face. There stands a maiden, with the bosom swelling.

Very often Frithiof went out a-hunting. Such a hunting would frighten many; without spear and sword the brave would fetch the bear: they were fighting breast to breast; and after the glory, in an awful state, the hunter went home with what he got.

What girl wouldn't like to take that?

"Ven he had been fighting that way, you see, without any sword or anyting."

Then dear to the women is the fierce of a man. The strongth is wort the beauty, and they will fit well for another, as well as the helm fits the brain of an hero.

But if he in the winter evening, with his soul fierce, by the fire's beam was reading of bright Walhalla, a song, a song of the G.o.ds--

"Veil, dat's the mans; vat's the vomens?"

"G.o.ddesses?"

"Vell, dat's it."

--a song of the G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses' joy, he was tinking, Yellow is the hair of Freya. My Ingeborg--

"Vat's a big field called when it is all over ripe?"

"Yellow?"

"No,"--a shake of the head.

--is like the fields when easy waves the summer wind a golden net round all the flower bundles.

Iduna's bosom is rich, and beautiful it waves under the green satin. I know a twin satin wave in where light Alfs hid themself.

And the eyes of Frigga are blue as the heavenly whole; still often I looked at two eyes under the vault of heaven: against dem are a spring day dark to look at.

How can it be they praise Gerda's white cheeks, and the new-come snow in the north light beam?

I looked at cheeks, the snow mountain's beam ain't so beautiful in the red of the morning.

I know a heart as soft as Nanna's, if not so much spoken of.

Well praised of the skalds you, Nanna's happy Balder!

Oh, that I as you could die missed of the soft and honest maiden, your Nanna like. I should glad go down to h.e.l.l's the dark kingdom.

But the king's daughter sat and sung a hero song, and weaved glad into the stuff all things the hero have done, the blue sea, the green walley, and rock-rifts.

There growed out in snow-white vool the shining shields of--

"Ain't there a word you say spinned?"

--spinned gold; red as the lightning flew the lances of the war, and stiff of silver was every armor.

But as she quickly is weaving and nicely, she gets the heroes Frithiof's shape, and as she comes farther into the weave, she gets red, but still she sees them with joy.

But Frithiof did cut in walley and field many an I and F in the bark of--

"He cut all round. Wherever he come, he cut them two."

--the trees. These Runes is healed with happy and joy, just like the young hearts together.

When the daylight stands in its emerald--

Here we had a long halt, Katrina insisting on saying "smaragd," and declaring that that was an English word; she had seen it often, and "it could not be p.r.o.nounced in any other way;" she had seen it in "Lady Montaig in Turkey,"--"she had loads of smaragds and all such things." Her contrition, when she discovered her mistake, was inimitable.

She had read this account of "Lady Montagu in Turkey," in her "Hundred Lessons," at school so many times she knew it by heart, which she proceeded to prove by long quotations.

--and the king of the light with the golden hair, and the mens, is busy wandering, then they did only think one on each other.

When the night is standing in its emerald, and the mother of the sleep with dark hair and all are silent, and the stars are wandering, den they only is dreaming of each other.

Thou Earth dat fix thee [or gets new] every spring, and is braiding the flowers into your hair, the beautifullest of them, give me friendly, for a wreath to reward Frithiof.

Thou Ocean, dat in thy dark room has pearls in thousands, give me the best, the beautifullest, and the beautifullest neck I will bind them to.

Thou b.u.t.ton on Odin's king-chair, Thou World's Eye Golden Sun, if you were mine, your shining round I would give Frithiof as shield.