Classic Audiobook Collection - The Frithiof Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt ~ Full Audiobook [folklore]

Episode Date: December 28, 2023

The Frithiof Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt audiobook. Genre: folklore In this dramatic retelling of a classic Norse legend, Ferdinand Schmidt follows Frithiof, a fearless young warrior whose strength at sea and in battle is matched only by his stubborn pride. Raised alongside Ingeborg, the beloved daughter of King Bele, Frithiof grows from childhood companion to devoted suitor - only to be blocked by Ingeborg's royal brothers, who refuse to let a hero of lesser birth claim her hand. When politics and duty pull Ingeborg toward an unwanted marriage alliance, Frithiof is driven into a life of wandering, raids, and hard choices that test his honor as much as his sword-arm. Set amid fjords, stormy voyages, and the stern codes of Viking society, the story weaves human passion together with echoes of Norse myth, including sacred places and tales of the gods that deepen the stakes of every vow and betrayal. As Frithiof fights to prove his worth and keep faith with the woman he loves, he must also confront the consequences of anger, the demands of kinship, and the price of reconciliation in a world where reputation can be destiny. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:05:44) Chapter 02 (00:21:30) Chapter 03 (00:30:03) Chapter 04 (00:39:55) Chapter 05 (00:44:41) Chapter 06 (00:49:07) Chapter 07 (00:51:48) Chapter 08 (00:54:15) Chapter 09 (01:03:27) Chapter 10 (01:07:04) Chapter 11 (01:15:38) Chapter 12 (01:23:04) Chapter 13 (01:27:30) Chapter 14 (01:31:04) Chapter 15 (01:35:01) Chapter 16 (01:40:56) Chapter 17 (01:43:14) Chapter 18 (01:50:20) Chapter 19 (01:53:32) Chapter 20 (01:55:57) Chapter 21 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

the frithiof saga by ferdinand schmidt chapter i frithiof and ingeborg in olden times they ruled in norway a king of great renown called bele whose wife died early leaving him two sons and a daughter when the latter had reached her sixth year the king said to thorsten his brother in arms and lifelong friend my rosebud ingeborg is the joy of my heart but none the less i must send her away and entrust her to the guardianship of Hilding the wise, so that, far from the turmoil and distractions of a court, the light of true knowledge shall be hers. But lest she should miss the companionship of her beloved playfellow, I pray thee permit thy son Frithiof to accompany her, that they may be reared together. Gladly will I do so, replied Thorsten. Not alone to honour thy request but because i know thou hast my son's welfare also at heart in sending him as the companion of thine own child to be taught by the wise hilden my king's will shall be done hilding's abode lay on the sea-coast surrounded by gardens and wooded hills and there ingeborg and frithiof spent the years of their childhood faithfully taught and cared for by the good old man

two rare blossoms of the northland were these children both richly endowed with gifts of mind and body ingeborg was like the swelling rosebud within whose heart the promise of the spring lies dreaming of frithiof grew up tall and strong as a young oak-tree crowned with its crest of rustling leaves so blessed by the gods were they with health and beauty that never had their like been seen in all the north now listening to the wondrous tales of their wise master with clear eyes uplifted to his now racing over the sunny meadows or dancing lightly under the dark boughs of the fir-trees in the silvery moonlight they were like the light fairies whose appearance betokens blessings and fills the heart with anticipations of joy frithiof was but little older than ingeborg and when he first learned from hilding to read the runic signs it was his delight to teach them in turn to his beloved playmate oftimes they would sail out upon the wind-tossed sea and when the shifting of the sail sent foam and spray dashing into the boat ingeborg would clap her small hands in glee no tree was too high for the bold lad when he wished to capture a nest of young birds for the king's child even the osprezieri high among the rocky crags was not safe from his daring quest twas he that found for her the first pale blossoms of the springtime the first ripe strawberry the summer's first golden ear of corn joyously they wandered together in the forest frithiof armed to protect his playmate in case of need for he early strove to train himself in all a hero's duties thus like a beautiful dream the happy days of childhood glided by ingeborg blossomed into maidenhood and frithiof became a stalwart youth

the king's daughter spent more time in her own chamber now learning the tasks of women chief of which was the weaving of garments while frithiof was often abroad with the men in quest of game or booty inheriting not only his father's strength and daring but also his discretion and cheerfulness he was beloved by all and soon aroused the wonder of his companions in the chase by the boldness with which he would attack the fiercest beasts felling them with a blow from his spiky club or piercing them through with the sharp-pronged spear as in earlier days he had been wont to bring his playmate gifts of flowers or fruit as greetings of the season so now he laid at her feet the trophies of his prowess shaggy bears or grisly wild boars often revealing upon his body bloody traces of the struggle admiringly ingeborg's gaze would rest at such times on the young hero while her heart beat fast in terror for his life the great hall by the blazing hearth fire listening to the legends old hilding told them of the gods or when the king's daughter would sing of the deeds of some great hero long at rest beneath his grassy mound she seemed to frithiof like a goddess sent by the great all-father for a brief space to the darksome earth to awaken a foretaste of valhalla's delights praises of frigger's golden hair are sung throughout the land he would say to himself but scarcely it can be no more beautiful than ingeboard's fair trusses and when he gazed into those soft eyes so full of heaven's own light and hue he doubted hilding's declaration that the eyes of the goddess frigger were the most beautiful in all the world End of Chapter 1

Chapter 2 of the Frithiof saga. This is a Librivox recording, while Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Frithiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. The Death of Balder

again the spring had come. Friga, the radiant earth goddess, had decked meadow, hill, and veil with bloom and Berger, and some in the various warblers of grove and wood. One mild evening, Ingeborg and Frithiof repaired with Hilding to a hillside overlooking the sea and seated themselves on the mossy stones. There, while the waves roared at their feet, the master told them of the gentle god, Balder and how envian malice brought him to his death. Balder was a son of the all-powerful Odin in the fair earth goddess Friga. Beautiful as the day and so bright that a shining splendor surrounded him as he traversed the dome of heaven on his white steed, swifter than thought.

All evil, hatred, and strife were abhorrent to him. Eloquent, wise, mild, and just, he ever sought to promote peace. to avert misfortune and to ease pain and sorrow. Sometimes, assuming human shape, he would mingle in the combat, but never even in the heat of battle did he lift his sword against the mortal. Though the other gods often took part in the strife of men, twas to do good alone that drew balder to the field of battle. Once on a hot summer day he chanced some warriors were perishing for want of water,

whereupon he thrust his spear into the ground, and a cool spring gushed forth, while others welled up wherever his horse's hoofs had trodden. These springs were inexhaustible, and still exist, surrounded by sacred groves, wherein the beneficent God will be worshiped to the end of time. Equally gentle and lovely was his spouse Nana, and far above the clouds, whether the eye of man cannot penetrate, they dwelt in their palace, silvery luster, where nothing evil or impure can ever enter. Balder was beloved by all the gods and goddesses, save only Loki, the ever evil, who hated him.

One night Baldur dreamed that some danger threatened his life, and so alarming was this dream that he could not shake off its shadow, but sad and heavy-hearted, thought only of approaching evil. sorrow seized not only on Nana, his loving wife, but upon all the gods and goddesses when they learned of the dark forebodings that filled Baldur's soul. In vain did Odin, his father, spend many days and nights in thought, in vain did he take counsel with the other gods and consult his two wise ravens, the seeing to the past and future, as to the nature of the danger that threatened his beloved son. at last he determined to undertake the perilous journey to the abode of the goddesses of fate,

rising from his shining throne, he left the palace, mounted his fire-breathing celestial steed that stood before the door, and followed by the two ravens and the two wolves who were his constant companions, flew like lightning through the space betwixt heaven and earth, and soon reached the path that leads to the kingdom of the pale, goddess, hell, and the terrible underworld. Far down below Valhalla, the golden palace of the gods, where their heroes are born by Odin's battlemaidens, the vultries, on their winged steeds, lies the dread realm of shadows where abides the inexorable hell. Loki is her father, her mother, the giantess Angervola, is a sister of the frightful wolf Fenris and the

earth enveloping serpent. Woe, thrice woe, to him who descends into the cold, mist kingdom of the goddess of death. Misery is her hall, ruin her threshold, pining sickness her bed, endanger the curtains thereof. Sloth is her thrall and despair her handmaiden. She eats from the dish hunger with a knife of famine. To this terrible place Odin now took his way, the path which no living man had ever trodden led between frightful abysses and icy crags but he heeded not these terrors nor the furious yelping and snapping of the death-hounds intent only on learning what evil threatened his favorite son at last he reached the spot where dwelt the goddesses of fate and at the first gray rune stone he swung himself from his steed below it had lain for a thousand years the norn who reads the future while about the desolate tomb the wind moans through the leafless branches and whirled aloft the parching sand odin drew his sword and inscribed thrice with it a runic sentence in the sand then he shouted thrice the runic call which uttered by the lips of a god has power to wake the dead within their graves in dull hollow tones a voice answered from the depths

what mystic spell of sternest might penetrates the dungeon's night stirs me from my sleep of old who art thou a stranger bold go let me rest for here below through winter snows and summer's glow through dripping dew and steaming rain a thousand years i now have lain ruthless thou stirst the dead deep rest whom mayst thou be thou stranger guest and odin answered a wanderer i unknown my name a warrior's son and told my fame of the upper world i would not know but fain would seek of those below for whom is the glittering table's bread for whom prepared the the golden bed. Again the hollow tones responded, Sawest thou not in beaker, bright, draught of sweet mead, foaming light, Or it hangs the golden shield, Warrior's arm no more shall wield. Baldur's coming these betokin, Baldur's death doom hath been spoken. This reed reluctant, have I told, Now get thee gone, thy stranger bold,

leave the weary to her rest, and come no more, whatever thy quest. Down in the abyss, the mistrolled and parted, permitting Odin for an instant to gaze into the joyless reign of death, and he saw that all was indeed

made ready to receive his beloved son. With the tears starting to his eyes, he mounted his steed and turned sadly homeward. Loud cries of woe broke from the waiting gods and goddesses when Odin told them, the saying of the Norn. Vainly they sought some means by which the doom of their favorite might be averted, till at last Friga bethought her of a plan, which was hailed with joy by all. As mistress of the earth, she bound by oath everything that existed thereon,

fire and water, iron and all the other metals, rock and soil, bush and tree, all disease are poison, with all created beings of the earth, the air and the water, not to harm her son. Alone of the tender mistletoe that hangs from the bow, she took no oath, for from that she feared nothing. Deeming their favorite, save from harm, the gods and their joy began to sport with him. Some flung sharp-pointed spears at him, and lo, they fell harmless to the ground. Others smote his uncovered head with their keen blades, yet not a hair of his head was injured. bright in laughing as a fair spring morning the gods stood in their mist catching the hissing darts and lances in his hands their joy's cries at last reached the years of loki

whose only pleasure it was to awake and strife and discontent within the hearts of gods and men and he hastened thither to blight if it might be these heaven-born flowers of joy taking the form of an aged dame with a staff in her trembling hand he approached the goddess friga and said tell me i pray thee o watchful earth mother wherefore the gods are glad so that i may share their joy friega replied all nature has sworn to me to do no harm to my son balder his life was in great peril but now shall the norn's reed be brought to naught nor shall he descendant to the kingdom of pale hell. But Loki asked, didst thou take oath of everything upon the earth? And Friga answered, of all save the tender mistletoe that grows east of Valhalla, from that surely there is naught to fear. Now was Loki rejoiced, for mistletoe causes the death of the tree from which it draws its life. Slipping softly out from the gates of Valhalla, he hastened to where it grew, in breaking it off, fashioned from the tough stem of dart which he sharpened to the keenest point.

Then as the old woman, he again joined the circle of the gods, still busy with their sports. Proceeding Hoder, the blind God, who stood apart, listening to his companions' joyous cries, but unable to share their sports, he drew near and said to him, Why dost thou not hurl the spear or speed the dart? Alas, how can I replied Hoder? Were not the light gone from my eyes, gladly would I also do honor to Balder. Nay then, that thou shalt, said Loki,

Take thy bow, in this dart, I will guide its flight for thee. Hoder did as he was told, and down sank Balder lifeless to the ground. This was the greatest misfortune which had ever befallen the gods in Valhalla. For a space they stood horror-stricken, gazing at the corpse of the gentle god.

Then the vaulted halls echoed to their cries of woe. Beyond all words was their grief and anguish. At length they bethought them to seek the author of the evil deed. But vengeance was beyond their power, for Odin's palace is a sanctuary. Moreover, Loki had vanished. With sighs and lamentations they bore the beloved dead to the seashore, were drawn up on rollers, stood balder's ship.

On this his body was to be burned. But all the efforts of the gods were powerless to stir the mighty vessel from its place. Whereupon they summoned the giantess, Hierachan, fire a world one to their aid. A rushing sound was heard as she came with streaming hair, riding a great wolf bridled with a serpent. laying her mighty hands upon the ship she pushed it into the sea with such force that sparks flew from the rollers seized with rage and chagrin at this thor lifted his hammer to shatter the head of the witch but the other gods hastened to pacify him and then a fresh misfortune befell the heart of balder's blooming wife nana burst with its load of sorrow and she sank lifeless into the arms of friga the bodies of the youthful pair thus united by death were laid upon the funeral pyre that had been raised within the ship and consumed amid the lamentations of all the gods this is the story of balder's death which brought sorrow and mourning into odin's halls of joy with rapture ingeborg and frithiof had listened to old hilding's tale while far in the distance they heard the rumblings of thor's chariot

in which the god of thunder rides upon the clouds and saw the flickering lights that follow the blows of his hammer tears glistened in ingeborg's eyes and even frithiof's heart was moved presently they arose and turned their faces homeward ingeborg retired to her chamber while frithiof and hilding seated themselves on cushions before a table upon which burned a taper suddenly frithiof spoke terrible indeed must be the abode of the goddess hell yet gladly would i die and descend thither could i but know that ingeborg would mourn for me as nana mourn for valder hilding was amazed at the speech alas my son he said can it be that thou art cherishing a love for ingeborg never can it bring thee happiness bethink thee king bailey's ancestors are descended from the gods while thou art but the son of a yeoman from the sons of princes will bailey choose a son-in-law nor mayst thou ever hope to whet his child frithiof laughed and his eyes flashed as he answered but gods take no heed of rank with them valour as all they will spurn him who fails in courage even though he be of their own blood but him who strives with all his soul to imitate them in godlike deeds they will hold an honor the fame i have already won for myself by slaying the beasts of the forest shall count as much for me as if my ancestral lines stretched up to Odin's halls.

Alas, for this love of thine, cried Hilding, I fare me twill bear thee naught but thorns. My old eyes were dim that I saw not what mischief was brewing. Nay, father, say not so, answered Fithiov. Never till this day have I thought to one Ingeborg for my wife, tis but now my heart hath revealed its yearnings for her, and her alone in all the world. But I swear to thee by all the gods that never shall,

her image be banished thence. If I need be, my sword shall be my wooer. Aye, I would contend for her with the thunder god himself, nor will I give her up so long as life shall last. Yet of this I will say naught to her father, but sue for him in due form after the manner of our forefathers. As Frithiof thus spoke, Ingeborg sat in her chamber. Her thoughts also busy with him. In his form, she seemed to see the fair young God balder, and prayed the gods to guard the noble youth and grant him fame and honor. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of the Frithiof saga. This is a Libervox recording. All Libervox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Johan, Highland, California, U.S.

The Frithiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 3 King Belay and Thorsten, his faithful old brother-in-arms, were now bowed with the weight of many years, like two ruined temples upon whose walls are graven ruins of wisdom, still powerful to stir the hearts of reverend beholders. One day the king said to Thorsten, My friend, the evening of life draws on, no longer has the mead its wanted flound. and heavy grows the helm upon my weary head. The world grows dim before my eyes, but clear and bright toward me streams the light of Valhalla. Therefore I have summoned our

sons hither. As we have ever stood fast by each other, so it is my wish that they should do. With this and other matters I would charge the young eagles, ere my lips are sealed by death. The three youths soon entered the Royal Hall. Helga, the oldest first. Pale and gloomy of countenance was he, as if the terrors of the death kingdom had set their seal upon him. With blood-stained hands, fresh from the sacrificial grove he came, for he was wont to tarry there, communing with seers and soothsayers. Behind him followed Hofden, his brother, whose bright locks framed a face, noble indeed of feature, but weak and effeminate in expression. The sword at his side seemed worn but in jest, and he looked like some fair maid who had sportively donned the garb of a hero.

last came Frithioth, a blue mantle hanging from his shoulders, and taller by a head than his companions. As the three stood before the king, it was like the bright noonday between rosy morn and dusky night. Then the king began, My end is nigh, O sons. Wherefore I charge ye, govern the land in harmony, for union is like the lance ring, without which the strength of the lance is lost. Let force stand guard before the country's gate, but within its boundaries cherish the holy blotest. of peace. Lift not your sword save against the foe. That your shields be the safeguard of the peasant's home. A foolish prince is he who opposes his own people, for as their strength is,

so is his own. The leafy crown of the tree whose sapless trunk is rooted in bare rock soon withers. Four pillars of stone support the dome of heaven. The throne rests only upon one, the law. woe to the land where violence reigns, for thereby shall both ruler and people perish. The gods, O Helga, do indeed dwell in temples, but not in them alone. So far as the voice can reach, so far as the sun's golden beams can penetrate, or the thoughts of man can fly, so wide are the halls of their boundless sanctuaries. The blood of sacrificial victims oft-deceives. Rooms, however so deeply graven, are sometimes proven false, but upon a justly,

an upright heart, O Helga, Oden hath inscribed ruins which God and man may trust. As the flowers adorn the brazen shield, so doth gentleness become strength. It is not winter, but balmy spring that opens the butt of life. Make to yourself true friends, a friendless chief, be he ever so mighty, is like a tree whose bark has been stripped away by storms. But he who is blessed with true friendship is like the forest giant, shielded from tempests by the companions that surrounded. Boast not of thy ancestors' deeds and honors?

What avails the heritage of a mighty bow which thou hast neither the strength nor skill to bend? The fame of thy sires rests with them in the grave. In its own waves, the rushing stream follows onward to the sea. Then, turning to his second son, the king continued, Thou too, halfton, hear my words and treasure them in thy heart. A pleasant wit is the adornment of the wise, but idle, chatter befits none, least of all a prince's son. Honey is sweet, but without hops, no meed can be brood, put steel into thy sword halfton, and earnestness into thy play. Never yet lived there a man

who knew too much, however famed for wisdom, but countless as the number of those who know too little. Disregarded at the feast sits the fool who holds the seat of honor by right of birth alone. Tis to the wise men the guests lend dear, however lowly be his seat. Choose not every man to be thy blood, brother, an empty house stands open to all who pass, the rich man's door is barred. And trust thy confidence to but one, what is known to three is known to all the world. The old king ceased, and Thorsten rose. To permit thee, King belay, to wander through Odin's halls, befits not one who hath ever been thy comrade upon earth. Together we have shared life's changes, and in deaths methinks we shall not be parted. Then to Frithioth, his son, he said,

the ears have whispered many a counsel in my ear for thee, my son. As Odin's birds hover about the burial mound, so do the teachings of experience linger on the lips of age. This above all else lay thou to heart, honor the gods. From them alone spring all blessings and prosperity, even as it is they who send the stormwind and the life-giving sun rays. They gaze into the heart's most secret depths, whether no man's eye can penetrate. Avoid evil. Long years must offer. do penance for one hour's sin. Obey the king, one must be lord overall if the land would prosper.

The knight hath many lights, the day but one, willingly should the better man do homage to the best. One handle only hath the sword. He who grasps it elsewhere wounds his hand. Strength is a gift of the gods, but without judgment forces of small avail. The bear hath the strength of twelve men, yet he is slain by one. Against the sword thrust hold the shield. against violence the law.

Guard thy heart from pride. Few are moved to fear thereby, but all to hate. The more arrogant thou growest, the nearer is thy fall. Many have I seen sore high who must now go on crutches. Praise not the day before its end, the mead before tis drunk, nor the counsel before tis proved.

Youth is prone to trust the lightest word, but battle tests the value of a blade, and friendship is tried by need. Trust neither the either, the ice of a night nor the snows of spring. It is true of all men that strength of body and mind must pass away, but the fame of an upright man lives on forever. Therefore, O my son, resolve only what is noble, do only what is right.

Those spake the aged heroes, whose sage warnings are still passed from mouth to mouth in the Northland. They further charge their sons to perpetuate the friendship that had bound them together through life in wheel and in woe. Ever back to back we stood when danger threatened, said, King Belay, and if it came still closer than with one shield we met it. Hold fast together as one man,

ye three, and never shall the Northland see your overmatch. For strength bound to kingly rank and power is like the steel rim that encircles the shield of gold. Fail not to greet for me my fair rose Ingeborg, who in peace and quiet hath bloomed as becomes a royal

maiden. Shield her well with brotherly love and loyalty, that no rude tempest bear away my tender flower. Be thou a father, to her Helga, guard her as your own child, yet forget not that harsh constraint will oft revolt a noble heart, which by

gentleness may easily be guided in the path of virtue and custom. Let our weary bodies be laid to rest beneath two grave mounds, on either side of the stream, that its rushing waters may chant for us eternal praises of the heroes. Offed at the midnight hour, when the pale moon

sheds her silvery splendors and the cooling dews descend upon our mounds, shall thou and I, my Thorst, discourse of olden days across the flood, and our voices will mingle with a murmuring of the waves. And now, dear sons, farewell, farewell! Leave us in peace, that far from the court we may prepare ourselves to enter into the glories of Valhalla. End of Chapter 3. Recording by Johan, Highland, California, USA. Chapter 4 of the Frithio saga, this is a Librivox recording.

All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Frithiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 4. Frithiof's inheritance. The two aged heroes died as they had hoped, within a short time of each other, and were buried as King Bailey had bidden, the two princess being declared. declared joint heirs to the throne by decree of the people, while Frithiof took possession of his heritage.

Fremnas His lands were on the coast and extended for three miles in each direction. Forests of birch crowned the mountain tops, whose slopes were covered with golden barley and waving wheat, growing to the height of a man. Lakes teeming with fish mirrored the wooden heights. Through the forest, threaded with rushing streams, roamed noble staff, and, and, and stags, proud and stately as kings. On the rich meadows, herds of cattle with sweet, glossy hides cropped the green sward, while here and there roved flocks of sheep, like fleecy cloudlets, slowly drifting across the blue vault of heaven. Ranged in two rows, twelve pairs of fiery

coursers pawed impatiently in their stalls, shot with shiny steel were their hoofs, their manes not hit with red. The great drinking hall was so spacious that 600 guests would scarcely fill it. Round the wall extended a table of polished oak, and on either side of the high-seat images of the gods were skillfully carved from elmwood, one representing the Father Odin, the other fray, who rules over the rain and sunshine, over the high seat where Thorsten had sat for so many years,

a glossy black bear-skin, with scarlet jaws and, and the claws tipped with silver was thrown. Midway of the hall was the great hearth of smoothly polished stone. Once the dancing flame shut ceaselessly upward, and suspended around the walls, helm and shield and sword glittered in the reflection of the blaze. Rich indeed was the dwelling. Abundance everywhere met the eye,

crowded presses, well-filled cellars and storerooms, while many a jewel, spoil of many a conquest, lay hidden in clothes locked chests but the three most precious possessions of the house were famed throughout the land of these the first was a sword called engel vadel or brother of lightning forged by dwarfs in some far eastern land frithiof's ancestors had wrought with it many heroic deeds the hilt was of hammered gold and the blade was covered with strange ruins the meaning of which was unknown known save to those who forged it in the distant Orion. When Frithiof drew it from the sheath, it flashed like the lightning, or the streaming northern lights. Moreover, a magic power belonged to this wondrous heirloom, so long as peace ruled the land,

the ruins on the blade gleamed dull and pale. But when war prevailed they burned red as the comb of a fighting cock. Next to this sword in renown was an armoring of pure gold. The work of halting von Lund, the Vulcan of the North. Graved on it were the names of the holy gods in their castles, with the signs of the changing seasons. While crowning the circlet, as the sun crowns the heavens, was a splendid ruby. This ring had long been an heirloom of the house and had once been stolen by the robber Soot, who roved the seas, pillaging and destroying. News came at last to Thorsten that Soot had caused himself to be

buried with all his treasure in a walled-up mound on the shores of Britain, yet there his spirit found no rest, but haunted the place as a spectre. Forthwith, Thorsen resolved to seek this ghostly visitant, and with Bailey, who offered to accompany him, took ship and sailed away to the shore of Britain, where they soon found Sot's place of burial. Like a sunken palace was the grave mound, over which lay piled up vast heaps of earth and ruins,

stonework. Thorsten and Bailey peered through a chink of the doorway into the vaulted depths. There stood the black Viking ship and high up on the mast, squatted a grisly shape wrapped in a blue flaming mantle, its staring eyeballs rolling, while it vainly endeavored to scour the bloodstands from a rusty sword. All about lay heaps of gold, and on the arm of the phantom gleamed Thornton's precious heirloom the stolen arm-ring bailey whispered to thorsten let us go down together and fight with this fiery spectre but half angrily thorsten answered nay one against one was the custom of our fathers alone will i strive with it long they contended as to which should first encounter that ghastly foe but the lot fell to thorsten one blow of his spear burst in the door and he descended into the vault while shield before him and sword in hand king bailey listened without wild chantings he heard at first like some magic spell then loud clashing sounds as of swords crossed in conflict then came a horrible scream and followed by instant silence, and out-staggered Thorsten, pale and distraught, but on his arm he bore the ring.

Never in after days would he relate what had passed in those awful depths, and when question would turn away shuddering, but he was often wont to say, truly twas dearly bought this arm-ring, but once in my life have I trembled, and that was when I took it. Last of the three family treasures was the good ship Alita. Frithiof's ancestor, Viking, so it was said, returning once from a foray, discovered on his own shores a shipwrecked man, tally looked and nobly formed with an open countenance, whose expression was constantly changing like the glancing of waves in the sunlight.

Sea green floated his hair, white as wave-farm his beard, A blue mantle enveloped his form, and the gold belt he wore was set with corals. Steering directly to the spot, Wiking rescued the unfortunate, took him to his home and feasted him right nobly. But when at night the stranger was offered a bed, he shook his head, smiling. Fair as the wind in my ship a good one, he said, and many a mile I hope to leave behind me ere the break of day. Not but thanks have I to offer thee in return for thy hospitality, but my wealth lies deep beneath the ocean wave. Yet in the morning it may be thou wilt find some gift from me upon the shore. A daybreak, waking hasten to the shore and lo, with the swiftness of the sea-eagle

darting upon its prey, there came flying into the haven one of the warships, commonly known as dragons. Not a soul was to be seen on board, neither steersmen nor rowers. Yet unerringly, the rudder guided its winding course amid rocks and shoals. As it neared the land the sails furled themselves, the anchor fell, and the slender vessel rested quietly upon the sandy beach. As Wiking stood gazing in astonishment at all this, voices sounded from the dancing waves. They chanted, The man thou disrescue and shelter was Agier, the Lord of the sea. He forgets not his debt. See, yon dragon he sendeth as token to thee. Royal indeed was the gift of the sea-god. The solid beams of the ship were not joined in the usual way, but grown together, long in dragon-shaped. It lay upon the water, the head reared high, wide jaws gleaming red with gold. The body sped, sprees. speckled with blue and gold, and ending at the rudder and a coiling tail covered with silver scales. Black were the sails with edgings of gold, and when each was fully stretched, the ship flew

like the storm went, swifter than the sea eagle. With all these treasures and more besides, Frithiof next to the two kings was the richest man in all the land. Kingly of nature was he, if not by birth, and gentle and noble in word and deed. Twelve mighty champions he had ever beside him, tried comrades of his dead father. Among these gray beards, like a rose set in a wreath of withered leaves, was a youth called Bjorn, joyous as a child, yet with the strength of manhood and the wisdom of age. Frithiof had grown up with him, and together they had sworn blood-brotherhood. Sorrowfully amid these heroes sat Frithiof in the high seat, draining the mead horn at his father's grave feast after the custom of his ancestors while with the heavy heart he listened to the thundering hero-song sounded in praise of the departed

end of chapter four frithiof's inheritance chapter five of the frithiof saga this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit vaux.org. The Frithiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Frithiof's wooing. Each day the great hall echoed to the sound of harpstrings and rang with praises of the great deeds of his sires, but naught could rouse Frithiof from his melancholy.

Once more the spring awoke with smiles, the blue sea was flecked with swelling, sails of ships, and still his gloom remained unbroken. His thoughts ever dwelt on the happy days at Hilding's abode when the king's child was his beloved companion. At last Bjorn went to him and said,

Why does Frithiof sit like a wounded eagle in his airy? What is amiss with thee, my friend? Surely thou hast no lack of lands or goods. Song and harp sound for thee by night and day. The mead-horn passes from hand to hand, but vainly thy good steed stamps in his stall. Vainly the hooded falcons screams for prey. See how Alita strains at her cable and spreads her wings, impatient to be free.

Nenfrythiof clasped his friend's hand and shaking off his sorrow, embarked with his comrades in the dragon, which was soon speeding onward through the foaming waves. Elga and Haftan were sitting at their front. father's grave mound near the sea, holding judgment for the people, when Elida approached. Frithiov landed with his men, and entering the circle of warriors, thus addressed the two kings. I stand here before ye, O kings, as suit her for the hand of Ingeborg. Surely your dead father would have smiled upon our union, since twas by his wish that we grew up together under Hilding's guidance,

like two saplings with branches intertwined, whose tops Friga winds about with silver thread. Of no royal race am I, tis true, but the fame of my sires is oftentimes sung in royal halls, as well ye know. Easily might I win for myself a kingdom and wear the golden circlet on my brow. But tis my choice rather to dwell in the land of my birth,

my sword ever ready to defend the throne or the hut of the poor on king bellies mound we stand in the depths below he heareth and speaketh for me join ye the hands of frithiof in ingeborg frowning darkly helgi rose and scornfully replied not for a peasant son is our sister destined none but a prince may hope to win her thou art called the mightiest hero in all the northland let that content thy pride and aspire not to the hand of a maiden whose forefathers sprung from odin himself my kingdom needs not thy service that shall be our own care but if thou wouldst have a place at court among my hired warriors that i will not deny thee frithiof laughed grimly i be thy vassal nay i am a man for myself even as was my father out ungravadil from thy sheath bright flashed the blade in the sunlight the ruins glowing fiery red now angravadel let us see if any shall deny that thou at least art high-born and noble as for thee king helgi stood we not upon this sacred mound i would smite thee to the dust. Take heed hereafter, that thou come not too near my blade. With one blow, Frithiof, clove and twain, Helga's golden shield and hung from an oak tree, and the two halves fell with a crash that awakened hollow echoes from the vault below. Well struck my sword, cried Frithiof,

hide now thy gleam, and dream thou of exploits more noble. Terror seized Helgi, and his followers, and all looked unsilently while Frithiof returned to a ship and was born swiftly away over the water out to the deep blue sea. End of Frithiof's wooing. Chapter 6 of the Frithiof saga. This is a Librevox recording. All Libervox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libervox.org. Recording by Chad Horner from Ballyclair in County Antrim, Northern Ireland, situated in the north of

east of the island of Ireland. The Frithiof Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt. Translated by George Upton. Chapter 6. King Ring They reigned at this time in the far north the king named Ring. No longer young but gentle and kindly as Balder himself and sage of Mimir who guards the fount of wisdom. His realm was peaceful as a grove of the gods.

The greenwood never echoed to the clash of arms, nor where the cornfields trampled by the hoofs. of battle states. Justice held sway upon the seat of judgment about which the people gathered to hold their ting, or general assembly, where each man had a voice in the affairs of the kingdom, thither came many a white-sailed vessel, bringing treasures from a hundred coasts, in exchange for the country's rich abundance. Wisely and well had King Ring guided the destinies of his people for more than thirty years, and prayers for his welfare ascended daily to Odin's. throne one day the king sat with his warriors in the royal hall long was the feast and many a horn of foaming mead was strained but at last he pushed back his gold chair from the board while all the chiefs arose to do honour to the words of their lord sighing deeply he began

my noble queen was taken as ye know from out these mists of earth and now infreguous heavenly boar sits enthroned in purple robes nought remains to me but the flower-decked grave-bound where she lies she was the treasure of my life but my babe suffer for a mother's care the country lacks a queen king bell he was often wont to be our honoured guest now also shares philhala's joy but he and one and her i chose but he hath left a daughter as fair they say as the lily and the rose in one and her i choose to be my spouse tis true that she is young and like the spring while winter's frost has touched my locks with grey but if it so be that she can trust an upright heart and nourish affection for helpless childhood in her breast then will autumn offer to the spring its throne take gold from the vault rooms therefore and gems and costly apparel from the chests and go ye to ingeborg's brothers with my suit also let minstrels accompany you that they may assist your wooing with song and harp-string a band of chosen warriors set out without delay and reaching the court of king beale's son made known their errand three days they waited for an answer while helgi instead of taking wise counsel on the matter offered up horses and falcons on the sacrificial stone and searched the entrails to discover the will of the gods but on the fourth day rings messengers demanded an answer whereupon helgi deluded by the signs he had perceived curtly rejected the monarch suit and the giddy half down added jestingly tis pity our feastings must have an end had king greybeard but come hit with you truly I myself would now have aided him to mount his horse suppressing

their wrath the envoys returned to their master with King Helgi's answer nor did they fail to relate the affront that had been offered them by half-dan an evil hour shall it be for them that seize King Greybeard on their shores cried ring as he smote the great war-shield that hung upon a linden tree in the castle courtyard swift throughout the land sped the summons to war and soon a host of war had assembled. The haven was filled with dragon ships and countless helm plumes nodded in the breeze. When the message of war reached King Helgi, he was seized with fear and hastily dispatched his sister, Ingeborg, to Balder's temple, which was held sacred all over the Northland. None had ever dared to violate the sanctuary,

and there he deemed her safe from King Ring and his warriors. End of Chapter 6, recording by Chad Horner for Ballyclare in County Anteantern Northern Ireland, situated in the north-east of the island of Ireland. Chapter 7 of the Frithiof saga. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Frithiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton.

Chapter 7 Frithiof at Chess Frithiof was sitting with Bjorn in his hall at Framnese, before a splendid chessboard, the squares of which were alternate gold and silver. When Hilding entered, greeting the old man kindly, Frithiof led him to the high seat and made him refresh himself with the horn of mead, till he and his adroit adversary should have finished their match. But without waiting, Hilding began, I come on behalf of the two princes, Helga and Helthdan, to pray you to make peace with them.

has declared war and they fear for the kingdom take heed bjong said frithiof thy king is in danger a pawn indeed may save him pawns are lightly sacrificed hilding who well understood the double meaning of these words continued let not thine anger master thee my son against king ring the princes may be weak against thy single arm twere otherwise frithiof smiled so thou dost threaten my castle bjorn he said but rest thee assured it will be well guarded in boulder's grove began hilding once more ingeborg doth weep the whole day long or not even her prayers move thee ha bjorn wouldst thou attack the queen dearer to me than life from childhood's hour the most precious peace in all the game is she and her i will save cost what it may wilt thou give me no answer nor yet end thy game asked hilding indignantly then frithiof arose and grasping his old master's hand said earnestly nay be not angry with me father but hearken to my firm resolve say to belay's son that never will he whose honour they have tarnished be their vassal hilding was silent for a space before he replied i must ne'en perform my duty yet neither can i blame thee for thy resolution odin will guide all for the best then mounting his horse he rode thoughtfully o'all way. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of the Friedhoff Saga. This is the Libri-Vox recording. All Libri-Vox Recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit

LibriVox.org. The Frithjof Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Optan. Chapter 8, Frithjof goes to Ingeborg. When the sun had sung low in the west, Vritjov said to Bjorn, Let us away, for this night I must speak with Ingeborg. How, cried his friend, wouldst thou violate Borders grow? Surely it will be no violation of Borders' sanctuary if I do but seek in all honor and propriety to hold converse with the king's daughter, my playfellow and companion from our infancy. Bjorn said no more, and Elida soon brought them to the holy grow, one side of which bounded by the sea. By that way it was forbidden to enter under penalty of death, while from

the land none but the priests might grant entrance, through the door in the high wall, to those wishing to visit the grow and temple. Paying no heed to this prohibition, Frithiov boldly entered the grove from the shore, and suddenly appeared before Ingeborg, to her mingled joy and terror. Fear not, dear Ingeborg, he cried, clasping her hand. that my presence here will profane Boulder's sanctuary, nay, rather let us go into the temple and implore his aid and guidance. In silence the lovers entered the temple, and not till the dawn began to break, did they emerge and seize the shore once more. Now have we plighted our troughs before the gentle God, said Frithio, and our love for each

other shall therefore be publicly made known. Thereupon the maiden besought Frithiof to forget what had passed, and be reconciled to her brother. Thy words occurred with that which boulder has implanted in my breast, fair maid, replied Fritiov, therefore I will appear at the ting, and before all men offered to thy brother Helg, the hand of peace, soon shalt so hear thereof. And with these words they parted. End of Chapter 8.

the sea, and at last she neared the wooded shore once more. The sails of the swiftly approaching dragon glimmered through the branches of the trees. It stopped, and Frithiof lightly ashore. Welcome indeed ought thou, Frithiof, said Ingeborg. But woe is me, I read my fate upon thy brow. Seas thou not also blood-red ruins thereon, bespeaking insult, shame, and banishment? Nay, calm thyself, and tell me quickly what has passed. Learn, then, my Ingeborg, the disgrace that I am forced to bear. I sought the assembly of the people gathered at thy father's grave mound. Where close circling stood the Northlands warriors, sword in hand and shield to shield.

Within their ranks upon the judgment seat sat that pale bloodman Helgi, his gloomy gaze fast fixed upon the ground. while beside him half-dan, like some overgrown child, toyed idly with a slender sword. Then I stepped forth and spoke. The clouds of war, O Helge, overhang thy boundaries. Thy kingdom is in jeopardy. But give me thy sister, and I'll lend my arm,

Whose strength shall stand thee well in time of need. Forgotten be our grudge, Forloth them I to cherish hate against the brother of my Ingeborg. Be just, O king, and save at once thy country and thy sister's heart as proof of faith i offer thee my hand in peace but by the almighty thor i swear that never again shall it be stretched to thee in reconcilment loud plaudits rang from all about us the clang of a thousand shields rose up to heaven yea give him ingeborg they shouted the fairest lili in our veils remember king that thrithiof is our stoutest swordmen, give him thy sister. Thereat our noble foster-father, Hilding stepped from out the throng and spoke for me. From his lips fell many a weighty speech in biting proverb, while even Haphton too did urge

consent. But vain were my words, vain the shouts of the warriors, vain the intercession of Hilding in half-dan. As little might the spring's son coax a blade of grass from out of the naked rock, as our united prayers awake one kindly thought in Helier's breast. Unchanged his lowering glances, scornfully he spoke. The peasant's son might claim, perchance, our sister, but never shall the defile her of a temple in her hand. Speak, Frithiof, hast thou not broken Baldur's peace? Hasth thou not force thy way into his holy temple, despite the law which so forbids? Answer yea or not, Nay. My life's happiness, I answered, hangs upon a word, yet fear not, Helge. Neither for Vahala's joys nor all this earth's delight would I foreswear myself. Yay, in Baldur's temple I have

seen thy sister, but in no wise did I offend the pure and gentle God. Our prayers to him did awaken holy thoughts within our hearts, and led me here to offer peace to thee. More I could not speak, for a murmur of horror ran through the circle. The warriors, paled by superstition, drew back from me, as I were smitten with a plague. Thy brothers was the victory. At last he spoke, By the laws of our fathers, mine is the right to sentence thee to banishment or death, but rather will I emulate in mildness the God whose sanctuary thou hast violated. Harken then to my decree. Far to the westward lies a group of islands ruled by Ongtier. King Paley long ago did lay him under tribute,

and this he faithfully remitted so long as our royal father was alive. Since Bailey's death he has refused it. Go thou and collect this tribute as atonement for thy crime. Then he added sneeringly, "'Tis said this Ongtier is hard-handed and sits brooding over his gold like Faftner, the famed dragon slain by Sigord. But who could withstand our second Sigord's prowess? Truly this is far other work than seeking maids and balder's holy grove.

Here till the summer comes again will wait for thy return, bringing fresh glory and, above all else, the tribute. But shouldst thou fail in this, thou shalt be doomed as coward, branded and banished forever. from thy native land. So ended his words. The assembly was dissolved and the warriors dispersed in silence. But what is now thy purpose, Frithiof? Have I a choice? This very day I depart to redeem my honor. And leave me here? Nay, come with me, my Ingeborg. Alas, that may not be. Yet hear me, beloved, ere thou dost fix thy firm resolve, thy brother and his wisdom forgets, that Augenteer was once my father's friend, as well as Baileys. Perchance he'll yield with good will what I ask,

but should he not, this friend I carry at my side shall prove a sharp and powerful persuader. Then will I send to King Helge the gold he sowed desireth, and free as both forever from the sacrificial knife of that crowned hypocrite. Then we, my Ingeborg, will seek some distant happier land, and bid farewell to shores so hostile to our happiness. Look, my Alita doth already spring her eagle's wings to bear us, swiftly o'er the waves. Come, beloved, hasty. Alas! Alas! I cannot follow!

What hinders thee, my Ingeborg? Were thy good father but alive, and did he forget not? Prithiof, that Helge holds my father's place with me. The gods have blessed and woven these bonds, and a woman dare not break them to steal her happiness, however near it lies. Once more consider, is this word thy last? Alas, dear Frithiof, I cannot dare not do else, if I would maintain my honour and thine own. Then fare thee well, King Helgi's sister, fare thee well.

O Frithiof, Frithiof, is it thus thou wouldst depart without a glance, without a hand-class for thy childhood's friend, methinks one who is forced to sacrifice as much as I doth well deserve at least a word of comfort. The stir of life and clash of arms will ease thy grief, but what remains for me? To whom, alas, may I impart my woe. Within my bower I'll sit, thinking of thee and weaving broken lilies in my web, till spring herself with fairer lilies shall adorn my grave. cease cease cried furthi off with deep emotion as he clasped the maiden's hand forgive me that my sorrow did assume the garb of anger thou art right i see it now my better angel tis true that only noble minds can teach us what is noble and thy pure heart was quicker far to see the right than mine alone i'll go in part from thee but never from my hope whate'er betide next spring shall be Helge see me here again, the crime with which he charges me atoned.

Then in full circle of the warriors, mid-glittering steel, will I demand thee from thy brother as my wife. Till then, farewell, and keep me ever in thy thoughts. In memory of our childhood's love take thou this arm-ring, a treasured heirloom of my father's house. All the wonders of the heavens are carved upon it, but the world's best wonder is of farmed. faithful heart. See, see how it gleams on thy white arm like a glow-worm of

Ponna-lily's stem? Thus they parted, and Alita bore the hero swiftly away, while Ingeborg, sat and hopeless, he took her to her bower. End of Chapter 9, The Parting. Chapter 10 of The Frithjiov saga. This is a Librivox recording. All Librevox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Frithjof Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Optan, Chapter 10, Frithiof's voyage. Cold blew the wind.

Day by day, the sky is darkened. Deck and masts, sail and rudder, were covered thick with ice and frost. Fritjof was already far from his native shores, when suddenly black storm clouds overspread the and a fearful tempest arose. The sea was stirred to its depth, waves mountain high threatened to engulf the ship, which tossed helplessly amid the boiling surges. But Frithiov exalted in the fury of the elements.

The wild scene upon which he gazed was but a reflection of the storm that raged within his breast. Still the tempest increased. Showers of hailstones rattled down upon the deck, and on the numbered hands of the warrior, at the helm. A gust of wind tore away the cottage, planks and timbers groaned and creaked, huge billows swept the deck, and higher and higher rose the water in the hold, despite all the efforts of the ship's people, who now gave themselves up for lost. Even to Frithjov it seemed,

death was nigh. It is Helg that has sent this storm upon us, said one, and who may withstand witchcraft? Look, cried another, Yonder swims a whale and bears on its back two sea fiends. One is wrapped in the height of the ice bear, the other has the shape of the sea eagle, with black wings flapping. Woe unto us! This is the tea-trolls, Hayd and Ham. We are lost.

But Friedhoff, summoning his friend Bjorn to take the helm, hastened to reassure the terror-stricken crew. His words put fresh courage in their hearts. and with redoubled strength they began once more to struggle against the fury of the storm. Courage, friends, he shouted, Those who trust in the gods are safe from the power of evil spirits. Then springing to the ship's proud, he chanted. Now Ellie dash show us, whether it is boasted, Hero would thy bosom holds.

Listen, are thou truly a gears god-sprung daughter? Dash with thy strong keel, and cleave, yon, spell-charm'd, whale. With one bound, the dragon clue, the troll whale's body, and down it sank beneath the waves. Then at once the hero hurlous two sharp spears, the ice bears hide, purses one, the other springis, through the pitch-black eagle's side. Instantly the storm subsided. The sun broke through the clouds, and the waves no longer swept the deck. Soon the sea was as smooth as glass, and there, before them lay the islands ruled by Augantir. But the weary rowers could no longer move their arms.

The barriers were forced to lean for support upon their swords. When the ship touched land, Bjorn carried four and Frithiov eight of the exhausted men ashore. Food and drink were then brought from the ship and all refreshed themselves with a hearty meal. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11 of the Frithiof saga. This is a librippervous. recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox dot org the frithiof saga by ferdinand schmidt translated by george upton chapter eleven frithiof at the court of augontir in his great hall near the sea sat augontir at wosso with his champions while outside the window halva kept watch a good swordsman and stout drinker was he and often as his horn was empty he silently thrust it through the lattice to be refilled suddenly he flung it far into the hall and shouted i see a ship making to land on it pale warriors totter helplessly about but so strong and fresh are two of them that they carry the others to the shore

augontir strode to the window and gazed out toward the sea then he said that methinks hath the look of elida thorsten's dragon ship and in one of yonder two stout warriors i seem to see old thorsten's form and bearing hath he not the air of a prince of all the land when the black-bearded atli heard this the berserk fury seized him he sprang from the board with his eyes rolling and shouted if this be frithiof now will i prove the truth of what is said that he hath power to render harmless every blade and never is the first to sue for peace he rushed from the hall followed by twelve of the warriors hewing and thrusting furiously at the air with their swords they stormed down to the shore where frithiof had built a fire to cheer his men from afar atli shouted easy were it now for me to slay thee but rather shalt thou have thy choice to do battle with me here or fly but if thou wilt yield and sue for peace then infringe guise I'll lead thee to our lord. Is it your custom thus to welcome toil-worn heroes, cast upon your shores? Was Frithiof's answer. Then listen, spent as I am with days of hardship and distress,

yet never will I sue for peace from thee. And therewith he drew his sword, the runes on the blade growing red as fire. Fast and furious fell the sword-strokes. Both shields at the same moment dropped, riven in twain, upon the ground. Yet fearlessly the champions fought on. At last, down-swept Angervardle, with resistless force, and loudly clanging Atli's blade, was shattered. Frithiof stepped back, saying, "'Swordless I will not slay thee, but if thou was not yet have peace, then let us try a wrestling contest.' Foming with rage, Atley sprang at him, and a fearful struggle began. Like two eagles seizing on their prey they grappled with each other. The earth shook with the trampling of their feet. It seemed as if the heaving of their

breasts would burst the encasing mail, while in all their comrades stood about them, waiting for the issue of the contest. At length, Thorsten's mighty son succeeded in throwing his adversary, and, kneeling on his breast, he cried, were but my sword within my grasp, Its blade ere now had pierced thee through, Thou swore thee berserk. Go then and fetch it. I will lie here the while, said Atley proudly.

All brave men to Valhalla's halls must wend at last. I, to-day, and thou to-morrow. Still filled with the rage of battle, Frithiof, with one bound, reached his sword, and was about to dispatch his prostrate foe, who moved not, but lay calmly gazing upward, when he suddenly relented, and, dropping his sword, held out his hand to the vanquished Atley. Just then Halvar came hurrying thither, waving a white wand, and crying,

Cease! Cease! Your furious strife! The savouryons that await ye grow cold in their silver dishes, and my thirst does press me sore. Therewith the two heroes, who but now had striven in deadly combat together sought the court of Organtir in peace. The appearance of the great hall filled Frithiof with astonishment. In place of the usual oak and planks, the walls were covered with gilded leather, adorned with flowering vines. The chimney was of marble. Tapers in silver candlesticks illuminated the halls. The doors were held fast with locks. A bountiful meal stood ready spread in heavy silver dishes, and near the high seat a roasted staggered dawned the board. The horns entwined with leaves,

the hoofs gilded. On the high seat of silver sat organtir, clad in helm and mail of glittering steel, inlaid with gold, a purple mantle sewn with silver stars depending from his shoulders. He arose as Sphrythioth entered, and advanced to meet his guest, saying, full many a horn have i drained in thorsten's company and glad am i to do fitting honour to his valiant son then leading him to a place beside him on the high seat he called on all his warriors to fill their horns and beakers and drink to thorsten's memory while the hall rang to the sound of harps as minstrels praised that hero's glorious deeds meanwhile augontir questioned his guest concerning matters in the northland and in well-chosen words avoiding either praise or blame frithiof related all that had passed concluding with his voyage and the terrible sea-witches against whose power they had been forced to contend so eloquently did his describe their adventures that augontier listened with approving smiles and the bold champions about the board often interrupted the speaker with their shouts then augontier inquired the purpose of his voyage and frithiof told him frankly of his love for ingeborg of helga's arrogance and the penance that had been laid upon him for this i have come he concluded to demand of thee in behalf of kings

and halftan the tribute thou wast wont to pay in belay's lifetime calmly augenter replied never have i owned another as my lord free do i live free also are my people about these seas what i sent belay was not enforced but given in friendship his sons i know not if they would have tribute from me let them demand it with the sword then they shall have the best of answers yet thy father was my friend he beckoned to his daughter who sat near him on a golden stool and she hastened to the women's chamber soon returning with a purse whereon was worked with rare skill a green forest scene animals of gold wandered beneath the trees and above shone a silver moon the tassels were strung with costly pearls the clasp enriched with rubies augontere took this purse filled it to the brim with pieces of the wood gold and handed it to his guest saying take this as a gift of welcome son of thorsten and do with it as thou wilt but as for claim i refuse to acknowledge any such hear now my wish tarry thou here till spring comes as my honoured guest courage and boldness stand thee well in time of danger it is true yet think not thine elida may withstand all the perils of the stormy season and remember there are demons in the sea more mighty yet than those which thou didst vanquish to this frithiof gladly agreed and he held out his hand to his hospitable host saying be it then as thou wilt end of chapter eleven chapter twelve of the fritiof's saga this is the librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit

Librivox.org. Recording by Sonia The Fritiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt Translated by George Upton Chapter 12 Fritjof's return The winter passed and again were hill and valley

grove and forest clothed with bloom and verdure Then Fritjv thanked his host And bidding him farewell was soon speeding joyously away Across the foaming main Six times the sun rose and said and the seventh morning found him near his journey's end. Consumed with longing,

Fitchyov rose early and mounted to the deck. There, veiled in the mists of dawn, he saw his native shores and heard the familiar rushing of its mountain streams. Light as a bird flew Elida over the dancing waves, and in her sweating sails the western breezes sang like nightingales. Just as the first ray of sunlight fell on land and sea, they entered the well-known haven. Past the green-bird's woods now, cried Fitch of Duburne, and Framness greets me. With beating heart and gleaming eyes he waited. But what is this?

Is he bewitched? There lies the open space, where his forefathers built their dwelling, yet naught is to be seen of it. Do his eyes deceive him? He robs them, and looks again at a familiar spot. But neither house nor building of any kind is there. Only a tall, blackened chimney stands out. dark against the sky. Looking closer, where Framness stood, he sees a great pile of ruins,

from which the ashes whirl aloft. Elida's anchor is dropped, and silently Fritioff approaches the scene of devastation. Stones and charred beams are strewn around, or heaped together in confusion, fruit trees stretch forth their shrivelled branches, about the leveled grave-mounds lie the bones of heroes. As Fridiof stands spellbound amid the desolation, his faithful hound bran comes bounding to meet him. Yelping with joy he leaps upon his master, while out from the dale trots a milk-white courser, neighing and tossing his gold-knotted mane. Fitchov stroked the dog's head and patted his favourite's glossy neck, but the shadow on his brow remained unaltered. Then he saw Hilding, his aged foster-father,

coming toward him with mournful look. Welcome, father, to the ruins of Frumness, he cried and then added. bitterly. But why should this sight surprise me? This when the eagle is flown, that boys plunder his nest. So thus doth King Helga guard the hut of the peasant. Thus he keeps his royal oath. Rage at his dastardly act, more moves me than grief for what is lost. But tell me, first of all, good father, where is Inneborg? Alas, my son, replied Hilding, I feel my tidings will but aggravate thy woe, he had listened to what has passed. Scarce were thou gone when King Ring invaded the country, his force outnumbering hours full five to one. In the desert Dale we met, and bloody was the

battle. The waters of the stream ran red with gore, half done as ever, laughed unjust it, but so bravely did he bear him, my heart was gladdened at the sight, and twice did my shield protect him from a death-stroke. The victory might even have been ours, had not King Helga, seized with panic, fled, whereat the people's courage, too, forsook them, and flinging down their arms, they scattered far and wide, but in his flight King Helga paused to fire thy house. Ring then demanded of the brothers' lands and crown, or that they yield him up their sister's hand. Messengers went often to and fro, and in the end King Ring bore Ingeborg homeward as his queen. Fritiov laughed wildly.

Who now? he cried, dare talk to me of woman's truth, since she whom I deem true as none herself hath proven faithless. Hereafter naught but hate for mankind shall my bosom harbour. Henceforth the seas shall have their fill of blood, for none who cross my path shall Ango Varel spare. Nay, son, said Hilding sorrowfully, abate thy wrath, nor seek to revenge thy wrongs upon the innocent, rather accuse the norns whose doom on thee hath fallen.

What Ingeborg does suffer I alone can tell, before all others her despair was dumb as is the turtle dove that mourns her mate. So doth the sea-fowl, pierced by death's arrow, sink beneath the waves, in those cool depths to pour away her life. Atonement, so she spake, hath been decreed by Balder for Frithio's violation of his holy place. nor may I, faint-hearted, seek to shun the sacrifice. To death he dooms me, not swift, ah, that were easy, but lingering, slow, to waste away with grief. To that decree I yield, reveal to no one would I suffer, I desire pity from none, but be thou the bearer of my last farewell to Fritche of. At last the wedding-day was come, oh, would that evil they had never

to balder's temple walked a train of white-rope maidens led by a bart whose mournful chant moved every heart to woe amid them on a coal-black steed rode ingeborg like that pale spirit which surmounts the thunder-cloud before the doors of the temple i lifted my lily from her saddle and led her to the altar with unfaltering tongue she spoke her vows but unto balder then she prayed in such heart-rending tones that every eye save hers was filled with her altar tears. Then for the first time Helga marked the ring she wore. With a furious glance he tore it from her, and placed thy gift upon the arm of Balder. But thereat I could no longer suppress my rage, and snatching my sword from out its sheath, approached a king as he stood before the image of the god. Of as little worth was he to me at that moment as the lowest of his people, and verily a crime would have been committed in that sacred place, had not a whisper reached my ears from Ineborg. Nay, stay thy hand, stay not thy spotless blade. My brother might indeed have spared me this, but much a heart can suffer ere it break, and the all-father shall one day judge between us.

Aye, Ineborg, cried Fritch of, thou speakest truly, the all-father will one day judge between us, but he also meets out justice here below by mortal hand, and this in my heart that I am hither led to be the judge of one. Is not today the midsummer feast of Boulder that Helga celebrates within his temple? Now, crowned priest, thou who hast sold thy sister, thou who has robbed me of my bride, behold today thy judge. End of chapter 12. Chapter 13 of the Frethiof saga. This is the Librivaac's recording. All Librevaac's recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit you.

Visit Librivox.org. The Frithiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 13, The Burning of the Temple. It was midnight, low across the mountains, burn the blood-red sun, which in far northern Scandinavia never sets on the longest day of the year. Neither day nor night was it, an awful twilight rain. Within the temple, Baldor's great feast was being celebrated. High in the air shot the flames from the sacred hearthstone, while pale, white-bearded priests,

raked the brands till showers of crackling sparks flew upward. Clad in his royal robes, Helga presided at the altar. Suddenly the clash of arms sounded without, and a voice was heard. Bjorn hold fast to the doors, let none escape. If any strive by force to pass thee, cleave his skull. Helga grew deadly pale. He knew that, voice too well, then in strode Frithiof and addressed him. Here is the tribute thou didst order me to bring thee from Ongtier. Take it, and now for life or death will strive before this altar. One of us, Twain, must burn on Baldur's pyre. Shieldless will fight, and thou, as befits a king, shall have first stroke. But

beware, I say, for I strike second, nay, gaze not fearfully about, nor seek escape, king, fox. Caught in thy whole art thou at last. Remember Framnas, let thou dislay waste, and think of Ingeborg's cheeks blanched by thee. Beside himself with fury, Frithiof tore the heavy purse of gold from his belt, and hurled it at the head of the king, who straightway sank swooning on the altar steps, blood gushing, from his mouth and nose. What, canst thou not bear the weight of thine own gold? shouted Frithiof? shame, shame, thou, coward king. Truly my sword is far too noble for thee, nor shall it taste of blood so base is thine. Silence, ye pale priests of moonlight, nor dare to lift your sacrificial knives. Back, back, I say, for thirsty grows my blade. He lifted his eyes to the image of balder.

Thou shining God, frowned not so darkly on me, then perceiving the armouring he had given to Ingeborg, His anger blazed up fiercer than before. Nay, by thy leave, he cried, That ring came not in lawful fashion on thy arm. Not for thee did Von Lund forge its wonders, And he who is its master claims his own. He pulled at the ring, But it seemed grown fast to Baldur's arm.

Putting forth all his strength, at last he tore it loose. But therewith downcrashed the image of the god into the fire below. Higher and higher leap the flames, till beam and rafter kindled. Horror-stricken, Frithiof stood for a moment, motionless. Then turning to the door, he shouted, Open beyond, let all depart, the feast is over. The temple blazes, bring water, hasten all to quench the flames.

Quickly a chain of men to the sea is formed. From hand to hand the buckets fly, while high up among the rafter stands Frithio, calm amid the mounting flames, and directs his comrades. But vain are all his efforts. The golden plates of the roof melt and drop down into the fiery sands. All this loss, shout the people. See the red fire-cock how he stands upon the roof tree

and ever wider spreads his glowing wings? The strong wind arose and whirled the flaming brands into the treetops, dry from the summer heats, raging from branch to branch it leaped, and soon the whole grove was one sea of fire. When morning broke, Balder's grove and temple lay in ashes, while Frithiof sat within his dragon ship and wept. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of the Frithiof saga.

This is a Librevox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visitlibrovox.org. The Frithiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt. translated by George Upton Chapter 14 Frithiof in exile. As Elida passed the strand, Frithiof gazed from the deck with gloomy brow upon the scene of conflagration, from which the thick smoke still ascended, and anguish filled his breast. "'Wo, woe is me,' he cried to himself. "'In accusation rises yonder smoke to Odin's halls. Banished was I by Helga, but for a brief space,

Now must I forever leave my native land, Be thou, O sea, from hence my country, On thy blue billows, will I make my home. Framness no longer is my dwelling. Thou, swift Elida, shalt be, now my house. My bride too, art thou in thy black garb, Since she in lily robes is lost to me forever. Free dost thou roll, O mighty ocean,

No tyrant's will can ever do thee wrong. The only king thou callest master is he who looks upon thee calmly when thy white breast heaves in wildest fury, and thunder-peels are swallowed in thy voice. No grave-mound air shall rise above me, thy tossing waves shall cover deep my bones. Here Bjorn approached, and touched his shoulder, saying, Look, yonder King Helga makes his way amid the rocks. He thinks he hath yet a word to speak with thee. Ten dragon-ships were seen approaching. Frithiof sprang to his feet and bade his men prepare for battle. Joyously they shouted, King Helga wearies of the crown, his soul thirst for Valhalla's delights,

now shall he fall. Bold Frithiof leads us on to victory. On came the ships in a half-circle surrounding Elida. Helga had given orders to slay Frithiof and all his men, but to capture the ship as their prize. Suddenly a strange sight met the eyes of Frithiof and his warriors, and filled them with amazement. Nine of the ships sank slowly down beneath the waves, while Helga himself escaped with difficulty to the shore. Bjorn laughed. To a sigh that scuttled the ship last night unseen, a good trick it was,

and all we fell as I had hoped, save that King Helga has escaped. Now all the sails were spread, and the ship sped swiftly out to sea, backward gazing, Frithiof watched the fast receding shore and chanted a song that moved all hearts to sadness. Farewell, mounds, dreaming by wavelets blue,

Where west wind streaming white blossoms strew, Odin revealeth and doometh well what man concealeth. Farewell, farewell, farewell, ye bowers, ye limpid streams, Where mid-spring flowers youth wandered in dreams, Ye friends of childhood who loved me well, till death remembered, Farewell, farewell. My love insulted, my dwelling Brent, my honour tarnished, in exile sent. Heart bideeth in sadness, Norn's fatal spell.

To life's young gladness. Farewell. Farewell. End of Chapter 14. Recording by Stephen Harvey. Chapter 15 of the Frithiof saga. This is a Librevox recording. All Librevox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information, or to volunteer please visit Librevox.org. The Frithiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 15, Frithiof's Viking Life Thus Frithiof became a Viking, the sea his only home, and these are the laws he made for his followers. Pitch no tent on thy ship, seek no slumber below, on his shield sleeps the Viking, his sword in his hand, his tent is the blue dome of heaven. Short be thy sword, like the hammer of Thor, strike close to the foe. When the storm roars on high, spread wider the sails,

The sea in its wrath fills the Viking with joy, A coward is he who would furl. Wine is drink of the gods, Enjoy thou the gift, but drown not thy senses. Beware, he who falls on the land rises quickly again, Who staggers here is the death goddesses pray. Protect the merchant ship on the high seas So due tribute it doth not refuse

Thou are lord of the waves He's a slave to his pelf Thy steel is as good as his gold By lot shall the booty be shared among all Complain not however it falls The sea king himself throws no dice on the deck He seeks only glory from his foes Heves a Viking in sight

Then come boarding and strife From us he has banished who yields Mercy fits him who conquers. He who lays down his arms at thy feet is no longer thy foe. Prayer is Valhalla's child, and a scoundrel is he who, ruthless, refuses to hear it. The Vikings' rewards are his wounds, before all on the brow and the breast are they glorious. He who seeketh, ere the issue of battle to bind them, no longer is comrade of Viking. Thus ran the code of Frithio, and no laws of Odin were more strictly obeyed. Many a battle did these heroes fight and win, for there was not their like on all the seas, and soon their fame spread far and wide. But not of this had power to Gladden Frithiof's

heart. He would sit, helm in hand for hours with clouded brow, gazing out over the rolling waters. Only in battle did the shadow vanish, as with flashing eyes and fiercely swelling breast he led his men to victory. For three years they sailed the seas northward and westward, then turning south, his dragon anchored one day off the coast of Greekland. Greece. With wonder, Frithiof gazed upon that beauteous land, with its noble ruined temples rising amid fragrant groves. The tales his father had been wont to tell of those fair isles still lingered in his memory like some lovely vision, a dream that was now realized. Hither had he once thought to flee with Ingeborg from the haughty Helga, here with her to found an abode of bliss, but the noble men

maiden had denied his prayers and shrunk from such a breach of duty and of custom. Amid these fair scenes, memories of his native land woke afresh within him, and he longed to see it once again. But most of all he yearned for a sight of Ingeborg and to visit his father's grave mound. Why do I linger here in strange seas and stain my hands with blood? He asked himself, enough of glory have I won, and I care not for gold. North points the flag on the mast-head, to the Northland the home of my youth. Up, Elida, no longer will tarry, but follow that token from heaven.

End of Chapter 15. According by Stephen Harvey. Chapter 16 of the Frithiof saga. This is a Librivox recording. All Librevox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Frithio saga by Ferdinon Schmidt, translated by George Upton.

Chapter 16 Frithiof comes to King Ring's court. On his high seat sat King Ring, celebrating the great yuletide feast that fell on the winter solstice. Beside him, Ingebog, his wife, like chilly autumn with the youthful spring. The mead horn went round, and joyous shouts and laughter filled the hall. Suddenly, through the doorway, entered an old man, tall of stature, and wrapped from head to foot in a great bear-skin. In his hand he bore a staff and walked as if bowed with age. None knew him, and he quietly took his place on the bench near the door, reserved for the poor.

The courtiers smiled to one another and pointed jeeringly at the shaggy figure, while one playfully approached with intent to make sport of him for the amusement of the others, with flashing eyes the stranger seized the rash youth whirled him about in the air and sat him again on his feet unharmed whereat the courtiers smiles deserted them and they fell straightway silent what noise is that down yonder cried ring sternly come hither old man who thus disturbeth our kingly peace who ought thou what brings thee here whence comest thou much dost thou ask o king replied the stranger yet all will I tell thee save my name. That concerneth none but me. In penitence was I reared. Want was my inheritance. My latest bed, a wolf's lair, astride my dragon with his mighty wings. I flew swiftly hither from afar. Now my good ship lies frozen in upon thy shores. I came to hear thy words of wisdom, fame through all the land. When thy people just now sought to mock me, I seized a vain fool and swung him round about, but I did him no harm. Forgive me,

King. Truly the monarch cried, thou speak us well, in wisdom's teachings, bid us on our age. Come, sit at the board. But first I pray thee, doff thy strange disguisement, and show thyself in thy true form, for deception as ever want to be the foe of gladness. At this the stranger let fall his hairy, in there in place of an old man, appeared a youth of noble stature, his loft brow shaded with bright flowing locks, a blue mantle hung from his mighty shoulders, and his tunic was held in place by a wide silver belt, on which with cunning skill beasts of the forest were embossed. Heavy gold armlets encircled his arm, at his left side hung a sore that gleam like lightning, fair as balder, likely to the mighty Thor and strength of limb.

He stood before the king in his astonished court. For a moment his keen glance wandered about the hall, then he seated himself calmly at the board. The blood rushed to the cheeks of the queen till she glowed as crimson as the ice-fields lit by flaring northern lights. But now the trumpet sounded, the signal for silence. It was the hour of the vow, and the crowned boar was born into the hall on a silver charger and placed upon the board.

Touching the head of the boar, rings said, Harken ye warriors to my vow, I swear to conquer Frithiof, howsoever stout a champion he be, so help me Odin, Thor, and Frey. The stranger rose with a frown and dashed his sword upon the board with such a clang that all the warriors sprang from their seats. Hear thou me likewise, good sir king, he cried, That Frithio, whom thou nameest, Is my friend then kinsman,

And him I swear to guard with life and limb, So help me norns in my good sword. The king smiled, Thou speakest boldly, he answered, But words are free in Northland's royal halls. Fill for him, queen, yon horn with draught of welcome. I hope he'll tarry with us, as our guest till spring returns.

This horn was a precious heirloom of the house, broken from the forehead of the Yurus. Its feet were of silver, wonderfully wrought, while the golden rings about it, were carvened with strange ruins. With downcast eyes, Ingeborg handed it to the guest, but she trembled so that the wine was spilled,

and red drops gleamed on her white hand like evening's purple blushes on her lily. Unmoved, the hero took the mighty horn, lifted it to his lips, and at one drop, drained it to the honor of his host. Then it assigned from the king the scald smote on his harpstrings, enchanted many a heart-stirring song and legend. In lofty words he sang of love and friendship, of freedom and the country's glory, of the high gods in Valhalla's wonders, till fire shot forth from every eye, and involuntarily every warrior, the handle of his sword. Deeply they drank throughout the night, and many a champion, like a tower of strength in battle, was vanquished by the sweetly foaming mead.

End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of the Frithiof saga. This is a Librevox recording. All Librevox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or a volunteer, please visit Librevox.org. The Frithiof saga by Ferdinan Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 17, the Sledge Excursion Hull for a sledge ride over the frozen lake-crod ring one day, and the servitors hastened

to loose one of the pawing steeds from the royal stables and harness it before a splendid sledge, over the seat of which was thrown a silky seal-skin. "'Tis not safe on the lake,' said the stranger. The ice is thin and weak in some parts, and should it give way, full cold and deep would be thy bath. Nay, not so easily, do you mater, Strouded, replied the king.

Let him, who fears it, go around the shore. The stranger said no more, but, frowning darkly, hastened to fasten on his steel skates, while the impatient courser pawed the air and winnied loudly. Speed on my steed, cried Ring, and let us see if thou art sprung from Zepner's blood, Away dashed the sledge with the speed of the world when, the stout-hearted old king exulting in the motion and heeding not the entreaties of his wife, but swift as they flew, the stranger still outstripped them, circling about in wide curves or cutting figures on the ice. Meanwhile, false ran, the spouse of the sea god, has marked what is passing above. She cleaves a broad fissure in the sea's silvery roof, and into the up foaming waves, plant.

horse and sledge. But swift as the wind flies the stranger thither, fixing his steel shoes firmly in the ice, he seizes the horse by the mane, and with a mighty jerk pulls it and the sledge, together on to the ice. In sooth, said the king, that deed doth merit prays. Ian Frithiof himself could do no better, and now my fleet of foot let us back to the palace again. End of Chapter 17. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org.

Recording by Sonia The Fritiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Abden. Chapter 18 Frithioff's Temptation Spring is come once more. Birds warble in the treetops. Freed from their icy bonds,

the streams leap gaily downwards. to the veils below the roses part their delicate sheaths and blossom red as frigger's cheeks king ring will now go hunting and forthwith a joyous stir pervades the court bows twang quivers rattle fiery coursers paw the ground the hooded falcons screams for its victim and scarce can the huntsmen keep in leash the eager hounds fair as frigger dazzling as the battle-maiden rota sits the queen upon her milk-white steed like a star on the summer cloud. Her hunting dresses of green, embroidered with gold, and blue plumes wave from her velvet cap. Led by the royal pair, the gay train wends its way into the forest, and soon the sport begins. Loud bay the hounds, up mount the hawks into the clear sky, horns sound, the frightened game seeks lair and covered, and the eager huntsmen scatter in pursuit. King Ring has fallen behind. Old and feeble, he can no longer follow the language.

chastening chase while beside him silent and thoughtful rides his guest at last they reached the rocky glen shut in by thick clustering trees and thickets and here the king dismounted from his courser saying full weary am i lest stranger here will i arrest me in this pleasant spot nay sleep not on the cold hard ground replied the other i had better lead thee back to thy own halls sweet slumber comes when least expected tis the way of the gods said ring surely thou dost not grudge thy host an hour of rest without further words the stranger spread his cloak upon the ground and seated himself on a fallen tree-trunk while ring stretching himself out upon the mantle laid his head against the other's knees his eyes closed his close then soon he slept sweetly as an infant cradled in its mother's arms as the stranger gazed gloomily down on the face of the king he heard a rustling in the branches above him to the left and lifting his eyes he saw a coal-black bird which began to sing hasty frechov slay the dotard with one sword-stroke grant him rest take the queen she's thine her sacred kiss of plighted trolls she gave here no human eye can see see thee, silent is the deep, dark grave. Scarce had the sound ceased when from a bow on the right, a snow-white bird began. Though no human eye should see thee, Odin would the death-stroke view. Wouldst thou murder him in slumber, cowardly thy bright sword-stain? No, whatever besides thou

winnest, hero-fame, thou never shalt gain. Thus sang the two birds, while contending thoughts struggled within the listener. Suddenly he seized his sword by the handle and flung it far from him into the shadow of the forest, whereupon the blackbird, with heavy flapping of its wings, flew back to the dark halls of night, the abode of perjurers and assassins, while blithely wobbling, upward the white bird took its flight,

and vanished at last in the blue of heaven. At that moment the king awoke, and rising to his feet, said, sweet indeed hath been my slumber well they rest whom valor's sword doth guard but where is thy war-blade stranger methought the brother of lightning never left thy sight say who hath parted you little boots it answered the other swords are plenty in the northland the sword is not always a good companion its tongue is sharp and it speaketh few words of peace in steel there dwells an evil spirit sprung from loki's dark abode, to whom not even sleep is sacred, nor the silver locks of age. Harkin youth, began the king, I slept not. T'was but to try thee, I did feign to slumber. A fool is he who trusts a man or a blade untried.

Thou art Fritiof. I knew thee even when thou didst cross my threshold. But wherefore didst thou creep nameless and in such disguise into my pels? Wherefore, if not to rob me of my wife? Honor comes not nameless to the banquet, Fritchov. Ever open-faced she meets men's glances, clear as sunlight is her shield. The fame of Fritchov's deeds has reached us,

the terror both of gods and men, careless alike of cloven shield or burning temple, the mightiest warrior known in all the land. And this bold hero, this fierce Viking, creeps a beggar to our hall. Nay, cast not down thy eyes before me. I too have once been young, and felt as thou. Youth, well I know, hath fiery passions. Much have I thought on thee,

O Frithiof, I have pitied and have pardoned thee. Harken now, I am growing old and feeble, and soon for me the grave shall open. Then take unto thyself my kingdom and my wife. Until that time, be thou a son to me, and guard my house as thou hast done before. And now my son, let there be no more feud between us not as a thief did i enter thy halls o king replied frithiof proudly had i come to seize thy queen who could have withstood me twas but to behold once again her who before the altar gave me her betrothal kiss but ah what slumbering fires my rashness hath awakened too long already have i tarried upon my head the gods have poured their wrath even the gentle balder lover of all mankind spurns my prayers "'Twas I who burned his temple. "'Wolf in the sanctuary, am I called. "'All joy ceases when my name is spoken.

"'The child clings trembling to its father's knees. "'Once more will I seek the broad free ocean, "'with our earth and man have banished me. "'Out, out, my dragon. "'Too long in idleness thou hast lain. "'Again to the storm-wind "'shalt thou spread thy pinions, "'and bathe thy black breast in the dashing spray.

"'All, all on earth is lost to me, forever. The tempests roar, the clash of arms shall whisper comfort to my soul once more. So will I live, so will I fighting fall. And mounting then to Odin's throne, the gods, appeased, shall speak my pardon. End of Chapter 18. Chapter 19 of the Frithjof Saga. This is a Librivox recording. All Liprivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org.

The Frithjof Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 19, Death of King Ring Pale on his throne sat the aged monarch, for he felt his end approaching. Ingeborg trembling stood beside him, and the circle of silent warriors stood about the royal pair. Sorrowfully Fritjof entered. to say farewell. This day for the last time do ye behold me, he said. For the last time my foot does tread the soil of earth.

Henceforth, till the norns shall send their summons. The ocean's boundless wastes shall be my home. Take back the ring round, which such memories cluster ingeborg. Let it be a parting token from me. And thou, O king, go not without thy queen by moonlight to the strand, nor when the pale stars shine, for at your feet the waves might chance to toss my bleaching bones. Nay, Frithiof, replied the king, such mournful plains become not men. In maids they may be pardoned. For me the death's song soundest, not thee. Tis I must hence not thou. Take thou my realm,

and guard it well. Take Ingeborg as their wife, and be a father to my infant son. Ever through life has peace been dearest to me, well have I loved to sit with friends about the board. Yet with a strong hand have I guarded throne and honor, and clow on many a shield on sea and land, nor ever has man seen my cheek turn pale. Victory has been mine and glory. One boon only have the gods denied me

to mount to Valhalla from the battlefield. Death by the sword is the death of heroes. To linger on, the straw death, never such will ring lived to adjure. And therewith he plunged his sword into his breast. As the life-blood gushed forth, he had his horn brought to him, and raising it aloft with glowing face he cried. To thy glory I train this man-country, though Northland,

ye gods of Valhalla, all hail, all hail. Silence reigned within the hall. None gave way to grief, lest the dying man's last moment. should be saddened. Sinking back on his cussions, the king clasped Ingeborg's hand for the last time, greeted his friend and son with a parting glance, and sighing, his soul ascended to the O father. Great was the morning for him throughout the kingdom. Amid universal lamentations, the good king's mound was heaped above him, while scalds with sounding dirges glorified his memory.

End of Chapter 19. 20 of the Fritjhov saga. This is the Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Fritjov saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 20, The Election to the Kingdom. To the thing, to the thing.

The message flies over hill and wail. The people are summoned to elect their king. champions try their swords, Vassels polish their lord's helm and buckler, till they shine like the sun. Thus with clang of arms, the warriors assembled on the open plain, in their midst on the wide tingstone,

stood Frithiov, and at his side King Ring's son, a fair child with golden hair. Too young is Ring's air, was murmured through the multitude. No chief is he to lead us into battle or sit in judgment on the thingstone. but frithjouv placed the child upon his shield and held him high aloft saying northman behold your king a vigorous off-shute of the fallen oak does he not bear him well upon the shield here now my woe

I swear to guard for him his kingdom, till with his father circlet he shall one day here be crowned. Then raising his eyes to heaven, he added, For seat, son of Boulder, be my witness, O thou who judges justly strike me dead if ever I break my word. Meanwhile the king's son sat on Frithiof's gleaming shield, gazing about him proudly, but at length he began to weary of it, and with one bound sprang lightly to the ground. A shout went up from all the ting.

Ha, that was indeed a royal leap, Aye, shield-born, thee we choose to be your king. And thou, O Frithio, who shalt guard his crown and kingdom, take Ingeborg, our queen, to be thy wife. At these words Frithiof's brow darkened. To choose a king are you come, he answered, My bride a woo of my own choice. In anger still does boulder look upon me.

It was he that took my ear. Ingeborg from me, and he alone can give her back to me. End of Chapter 20. Chapter 21 of the Frithiof saga. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Frithiof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton.

The reconciliation. No peace was there yet in Frithiof's heart, as fire had once consumed the temple, so within him still blazed the flames of his remorse that by his act had Balder's earthly dwelling been destroyed. Betaking himself to his father's grave-mound, he sat all night alone upon the cairn, beseeching Balder to smile upon him once again.

And lo, in the darkness, a wondrous vision grew before his eyes, In Baldur's grove he saw a gleaming temple slowly rise, but scarcely had he gazed upon it in amazement, when again twas swallowed in the gloom of night. Roused by fresh hope of winning the offended God's forgiveness, he hastily returned to Rings' dominions and summoned architects to plan for the building of a new temple. Just as he had seen it in his vision,

should the home of Balder actually rise. So filled was he with this one thought That nothing else had power to move him Neither feast nor chase Nor sounding minstrel lay At last the work was finished And like the far-famed shrine of Uppsal The great temple stood a wonder to all eyes

A brazen portal richly carved led to the sanctuary Two rows of lofty column supported the arching roof Like a great shield of gold Facing the doorway stood the high altar, hewn from a single block of northern marble, and polished with rare skill. Roundabout it were graven ruins of solemn import. Above in a spacious niche was Balder's august image,

wrought olive, purest silver. On a rocky hillside rose the building, its reflection mirrored in the sea below, while roundabout on three sides stretched a smiling valley, known as Baldur's Dale. Leafy grows, adorn the flowery meadows. No sound but happy bird songs broke the silence. All nature breathed of peace.

With deep emotion, Frithiof trod these holy precincts. Twelve rosy-cheeked maidens, priestesses of the temple, robed all in white, advanced to the high altar, enchanted a holy song and praised up alder. They sang how beloved, was the gentle God by every creature, and when he fell by evil Loki's malice, how heaven itself with earth and ocean wept.

And as leaning on his sword the hero listened, the dark shadow that so long had laid upon his spirit lifted. Tender memories of his childhood woke within him, while calm and serene as the moon in the skies of summer, Balder the good looked down upon him and filled his soul with peace. Then with slow steps approached the high priest of the temple, not young and fair like the god at whose shrine he worshipped, but tall and majestic, his noble features stamped with heavenly mildness, engraced with flowing beard and locks of silver. With unwanted reverence, Frithiov bent his haughty head before the seer, who thus began. Welcome, son Frithiof, to this holy temple. Long have I

look for thee to come, for force. Though restless over land and sea it wanders, turns ever, wearied, home again at last. Off did the mighty Thor when thus to Juttenheim, the giant's kingdom. Yet despite his godlike belt and magic gauntlets, the giant king still sits upon his throne. Evil itself a force yields not evil. Virtue without strength is but child's play. The glancing sunbeam on the shield, a wavering shadow on the earth's broad breast. Yet neither may strength without virtue long survive. It consumes itself, like rusting sword in some dark grave mound, a debauch from which he who yieldeth to it wakens with shame. Behold the mighty earth. It is the body of Ymir, the world giant from whom all strength proceeds. Its rushing streams, his blue veins,

It's iron and brass, his sinews, yet all is barren, bare and empty, till heaven's bright sun-rays stream upon it from afar. Then springs the grass, fair blossoms deck the verdant meadows, in fresh leaves, the trees, the swelling buds burst forth, all nature breathes new life from the abundant earth. Thus it is with man's strength, it yields naught but blessing when transfigured by the heavenly rays of verily. virtue. What the sun is to the earth was balder to Vahala. His pure soul was the gem that fastened the wreath divine. When slain by evil Loki, he descended to pale hell's realm. Odin's wisdom straight began to languish, and the strength of mighty Thor to dwindle. The prison forces of evil, once mastered by the gods, stirred in their abysses. The dragon needhug gnawed at the roots of the tree of life, and its leafy crown fast withered. Again the war broke out

twixt good and evil, the strife that through all creation still endures. This is but the emblem of what passes in every human breast. Hast thou forgotten my son those days when balder dwelt within thy spirit? Pure then was every thought and feeling, thy whole life glad is a woodland songster's dream. And every child, does Balder reappear. In each that is born doth hell restore her victim. But in each soul is also found the blind God hold her. Evil is ever born blind, like the bear cub, in darkness it enraps itself, while good goes clad and shining robes of light. Loki still creepeth busily about to guide the hand of murder, with Balder dies the strength of heart and spirit. And anew the struggle in man's breast,

begins. Virtue sits hopeless, amid the shadows, as the fair God and the darkness of the underworld. So hath it been with thee, for Theof, passion and thirst for vengeance rose within thee, and Balder's temple sank to earth and ashes. Now thou seekest atonement, but knowest thou its meaning rightly, nay boldly meet my gaze, and turn not pale, O youth. But one atoner is there on earth, His name is death. All time itself is but a troubled stream from vast eternity. Atonement came from the All-Father's throne to restore us, thither purified. The high gods too have sinned.

Their day of battle, the twilight of the gods, is their atonement, and from their fall a higher life shall rise. Ah, bloody is that day. Bloody is the day that sees their strife with the power, of evil. The golden combed cock that sits on Odin's golden palace, Doth shrilly call to arms. Bursting his chains, up springs the giant wolf from the abyss. The earth enveloping serpent writhes in fury, boiling and foaming. The sea o'er flows the land. The whole earth shakes. Mountains crash together. The tree of

life groans and trembles, and terrifully the shades that hover about the path of the dead. On the corpse ship, made from the nails of the unburied dead, Loki, the wolf Fenris, and the giant Hiramur ride to join the battle. On come the flame giants, their swords gleaming like the red glow of the forge. Over the rainbow bridge they gallop, with a frightful crash it breaks beneath their horses tread. The heavens are rent asunder. Thunder peals sound from pole to pole, The shouts of terrified mortals Mingle with the groans of the dwarfs Who pale and trembling

Cower in their rocky caverns But already have the gods and heroes Donned their shining armor And led by Odin, crowned with his gold circlet And shaking aloft with gleaming spear Over Vigrid's boundless plain They move in mighty train They are arrayed against each stand the hosts

And the strife begins Spears hiss swords clash, the battle-cries of gods and giants fill the air, and furious bellowing of the serpent and the howling of Fenris shake the dome of heaven. One by one the gods are slain, but not avenged do they perish, for the powers of evil also fall, to rise no more, while from the flames of the world they rise to higher life. I, though the stars fall from the heavens, and the earth is buried deep beneath the waves,

yet newly born, the abode of man once more arises from the water. A new sun shines on smiling, mead and golden harvest. Then shall those golden runic tablets, lost in times far dawning, and graven with the wisdom of the gods, again be found amid the springing grass. Struggle and death are but the fiery proof of virtue. Atonement, another birth to higher life. The best, the happiest part of our existence, lies beyond the grave mound. Low and deep stained with guilt in error is all we find need heaven's starlit dome.

This life too hath its atonement. Dim type of that still higher yet to come. Earth is but heaven's shadow. Human life the outer court of Balder's heavenly temple. Decked with purple as the proud steed led to sacrifice. A symbol rightly read, that blood is the red dawn of every day of grace, yet by the sacrifice of no other, may thine own guilt be redeemed. The wrongs that man commits he must himself atone for.

The sacrifice all father demands from thee, more sweet to him than blood and wreak a victim, is thy fierce hate and burning vengeance offered on the altar of thy heart. If thou slay not these, then little will this proud arched, temple, serve thee. Not with pile of stones, mayst thou atoned to balder. First, with thyself and with thy foe, be reconciled. Then, Frithio, shalt thou have the bright God's pardon. Here now, what wondrous news hath reached us from the south. There, so tis said, was a new balder, born of a pure virgin, sent by the great old father to lead men to atonement. Peace was his war.

cry, his bright sword, love, crowning his helm the dove of innocence. Pure was his life, and pure were his teachings, dying he forgave. Palms wave above his far-off grave, but still his teachings spread from veil to veil, melting hard hearts, joining hand to hand, appraising such a realm of peace as never yet was seen upon the earth. But little I know of this creed, Yet often better moments, dimly I gaze upon its streaming light, And loud my heart proclaims to me, The time will come, When it shall also spread through all the north.

Leveled then will be our grave mounds, Lost in the stream of time, our names, While other men shall flourish, other chieftain's reign. Ye happier race, Who then shall drink from the new light's shining goblet? I greet ye in the spirit, Hail, all hail! Despise us not whose eager gaze hath ceaselessly sought the radiant light of heaven. Scorn not those to whom the divine ray was still wrapped in veiling shadows.

The all-father hath many envoys. He himself is one. Fethiof, thou hateest Bailey's son. But wherefore? Because proud of their descent from Seming, Odin's royal, offspring, they did refuse their sister's hand to thee? But birth is chance, thou saith, not merit. No, my son, man ever boast of fortune, not of merit. Thou art proud of thy strength and of thy glorious deeds, but didst thou give thyself this force? Was it not Thor who strung thy sinewy arm firm as the oak limb? Is it not God sprung courage that throb so joyously within thy breast? beside thy cradle the norms sang hero's songs to thee.

Thus are thy noblest gifts no merit, but thy fortune, of no more worth than that of which the princes boast. Condem not, judge not, others pride. The none will judge thine own. King Helgi is no more. What? Helgi dead? cried Frithiof, starting.

Where and how came he to his death? death. While thou continued the priest went building here this temple. He, as thou knowest, did undertake a foray against the Finns. Within their borders on a barren mountain peak there stood an ancient temple of the heathen Jumala. It was closed and abandoned, and none for many years had ever crossed its threshold. Above the portal, tottering to its fall, as it appeared, was placed an idol of the God. And an old tradition handed down from sire to sire said, Whoever first should enter in the temple should Jumala behold. No sooner did Helgi hear this, blind with rage, he scaled the barren steep, bent on destroying

the hated deities abode. He found the key still in the door, thick-covered ore with rust. Grasping the moss-grown posts, he shook them fiercely, and thereupon with tremendous crash down plunged the image of the heathen god, and thus did Helgi view the dreaded Jumala. Now Haphton rules alone. Give him thy hand, brave Frithiof, sacrifice thy hatred in this holy shrine. Thus saith, balder, and I his high priest, this demand of thee, refuse in vain will be thy efforts to avert his godlike wrath. Here Haphton entered the doorway, and with doubtful glance, lingered on the threshold of the temple. But Frithiof unbuckled Angravadal from his side and placed it with his shield against the altar.

Unarmed he approached his enemy and said kindly. In this strife he is noblest who first doth offer his hand and pledge of peace. Flushing deeply, Heftan doffed his iron gauntlet, and with a firm hand-clasped the two heroes sealed their reconciliation. Now the high priest removed the curse that had rested on Frithiof since the burning of the temple, and as he joyfully raised his head, no longer an outlaw. Lowe, Ingeborg entered, radiant in her bridal garments, enrobed in royal ermine. With tears in her beautiful eyes, she sank trembling in her brother's arms, but Haftan tenderly transferred his burden to Frithiof's faithful breast, and kneeling before her.

the altar of the pardoning balder. With join hands, the long parted lovers sealed their nuptial vows. End of Chapter 21. End of the Frithio saga by Ferdinand Schmidt.