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j FRITHIOF’S SAGA 131
Be chained unwilling; I will wander free,
Free as the mountain winds. A little clay
Gathered from Bele’s and my father’s graves
Finds place upon our bark; and that is all
That we of Fatherland can ever need.
O my beloved, warmer sunshine glows
Than our pale light above the snowy hills;
And we can find a fairer heaven than here,
Where gentle stars with godlike beam glance down,
And in the happy, balmy summer night
Watch in the laurel groves each loving pair.
Full far my father, Thorsten, Viking’s son,
Wandered in warfare; and full oft he told
By blazing hearth through the long winter nights
Of southern ocean, with its islands fair:
Green groves reflected in the shining waves.
In days of old ruled there a mighty race;
And gods tremendous in their marble shrines.
But now forsaken stand they. Grass grows o’er
The mounds deserted; and wild flowers hide
Inscriptions which the old world’s wisdom show.
Ruins of tapering pillars there grow green,
Covered with leaves of clinging southern weeds,
And all around the lovely earth brings forth
Harvests unsown of all that men can need.
And golden fruits on shadowy branches glow:
There grapes in heavy clusters on the vine
Hang purple-red, and ripe as thy sweet lips:—
There, Ingeborg, we ’11 found beyond the waves
Another Northland, fairer far than here;
And with our faithful love rejoice once more
Deserted shrines and temples, and delight
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