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j FRITHIOF’S SAGA
97
ingeborg
Ah! Frithiof, thou art happy!
Following no man, thou canst forward go,
Like thy swift vessel; at the rudder stands
Thy will alone; and so thou steerest forth,
With steady hand, above the angry waves.
Alas! how different my lot must be.
My destiny in other hands must lie,
Which yield not up their prey, although it bleed.
Self-sacrifice, and grief, and pining is
The freedom of the daughter of a king.
frithiof
Art thou not free, whene’er thou wilt? sitteth thy sire
Not in his grave?
ingeborg
Ah! Helge is my father,
Or standeth in his place; without his will
I cannot wed: and Bele’s daughter steals
No happiness, however near it lie.
For what were woman, thus self-willed, to break
Those bonds wherewith the wise Allfader linketh
Ever the weaker being to the strong?
In the pale water-lily is her type,
Sinking or rising on the changing waves;
Above it speeds the sailor’s keel away,
And recks not how it wound the tender stem:
Such is its destiny; and yet as long
As clings the root tenacious in the sand
It sprouteth ever forth; its pallid hues
It borroweth from sister-stars above,
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