Northland Heroes Part 6

Minds deeply thinking, Harvest fields growing-- Peaceful exploits have I loved on the earth."

Speaking thus bravely, the king pressed the hand of his queen and of his son. Frithiof's also he clasped with love. Then, closing his eyelids gently, the royal spirit of King Ring sank with a sigh to All-father's breast.

The New King

King Ring sits in his barrow, buckler on arm and battle-sword by his side. His war-horse stands at the cairn pawing the earth and chafing as though impatient to start on the long journey.

Thus sang the harper of the departed hero: "Great King Ring has gone on his last journey. He rides over Bifrost, the rainbow bridge that leads to Valhal. The bridge bends with his weight. Wide open the doors of Valhal to welcome him, and hands reach out to lead him within the doors.

"'Odin himself, king of the G.o.ds, calls for the beaker to be brought.

Frey wreathes the king's head with garlands of grain ears, and Frigg places therein the bluest of her blossoms. Broge, the singer of the G.o.ds, tunes his golden harp and sings a song of welcome. Silent is Valhal as he sings:--

"'Dear to us is this hero king, for he held his s.h.i.+eld as a shelter for peace. Always did Forseti, G.o.ddess of justice and peace, have an honoured place in his kingdom. Generous, too, was the king, always strewing beauty and blessing far and near. To heroes he gave gifts without measure; sadness he comforted and suffering he relieved.

"'Welcome, thou wise winner of Valhal! Long will you be loved and honoured in the Northland. You are loved by the G.o.ds, a friend from the earth.'"

So sang the harper in the palace of the king whom he loved.

When the news spread over the country that King Ring was dead, the peasants and warriors from hill and dale, from meadow and farm, cried: "We must choose a king to fill his place."

The peasant took from the wall his steel sword and tried its edge with his practised finger to prove its sharpness. His boys admired their father's blade and tried to lift it, but it was too heavy for one, and two struggled to lift it from the floor.

The peasant's daughter scoured the helmet to make it clean and bright, and laughed to see her face s.h.i.+ning from the silvery sheen of its polished surface.

When the peasant had bound his good sword to his side and put on his s.h.i.+ning helmet, he took his round s.h.i.+eld and started with his friends to the gathering-place.

Hail! iron man, so strong and sound, Thou peasant good!

Renown and powers which nations wield From thee they draw.

In war thou art thy country's s.h.i.+eld, In peace its law.

With sounding of arms and s.h.i.+elds the peasants met under heaven's blue sky in the fair, pleasant fields. Upon the great stone in the centre of the a.s.sembly stood the n.o.ble Frithiof. With him was the little prince, son of King Ring, a slender, n.o.ble lad with long golden hair.

When the men saw the two, there rose the cry on every hand, "Too small is the king's son to rule our land and to lead our wars. Frithiof shall be our king!"

But Frithiof raised up the little boy on his s.h.i.+eld and cried: "Ye Northmen, behold your hope, your king, your joy! From Odin is he descended, and he is brave at heart, as much at home 'mid s.h.i.+eld and spear as fish are in the sea.

"I swear my lance and sword to set Round land and throne, And with the father's coronet To crown the son."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Boy on the s.h.i.+eld]

While Frithiof was urging the Northmen to choose the son of Ring for their King, the boy sat on the high s.h.i.+eld as if it were a throne. No fear had he, but he faced them all as the eaglet faces the sun. At last he grew impatient and leaped to the ground; fearless and proud he stood, like the royal prince he was.

Then all rejoiced at his courage: "We of the north, we choose thee, thou s.h.i.+eld-borne youth, to be our king. Be like thy father, brave and good. For Frithiof, thy loyal friend, he shall be thy guardian and guide thy youth. You, Frithiof, shall marry the queen. We give her to you for your bride."

But Frithiof frowned and said: "To-day you are here to make choice of your king,--not of my bride. To the temple of Balder I must go to repair the wrong I have done, if perchance I can do this.

"Against me Balder's anger sore Doth still abide; He took, he only can restore My cherished bride."

Then Frithiof kissed the youthful monarch on the brow in farewell, and, turning from the a.s.sembly, he silently and slowly pa.s.sed from view.

Frithiof at his Father's Grave

From the home of King Ring Frithiof fared to seek his father's grave in his own loved land. As he neared the sh.o.r.e, he looked upon it with joy. How brightly the sun shone, smiling like a friend as its soft rays touched the branches of the forest! The dewdrops reflected the light as perfectly as the great ocean. The mountains were aglow with crimson light as the sun slowly sank in the west.

On every side Frithiof saw the well-known places he loved as a child.

The same sweet beauty graced the valleys, the same birds were filling the woods with song. He visited the stream in which he strove as a swimmer bold, and he found the birch trees with their white bark, on which he had carved his name so long ago.

All seemed unchanged. But when he looked for Framness, that royal home of his father, he found it not. And Balder's shrine was gone; both destroyed by fire and sword. No more the pious pilgrim came to Balder's grove, for wild beasts roamed where once the sacred temple stood. Although Frithiof had suffered so long, his grief was even stronger than before, when he saw the ruined temple. He repaired next day to the grave of his father, the brave Thorsten, where he prayed to the G.o.ds:--

"Is there no way by which I may obtain pardon for my offence? Will the blue-eyed G.o.d, kind Balder, refuse forgiveness when man pardons man who asks for pardon? Command any sacrifice and I will perform it. No evil will had I in the burning of thy shrine. Tis the only stain upon my s.h.i.+eld. I pray thee, remove it and make my s.h.i.+eld spotless. Cannot an upright life repair a moment's fault?

"Here is my father's grave. He has gone where there are no tears, and he rejoices in the company of n.o.ble heroes. O father, hear my prayer!

Not for renown in war I pray, but for forgiveness. Take my plea to heaven. No rest have n.o.ble minds if unforgiven. Will you not send me some message, some token, some sign that you hear and answer my prayer?

The waves are resounding on the sh.o.r.e; can you not speak through them?

The storm flies by, bounding on swift pinions; will you not whisper to me in the storm?--No answer?"

As Frithiof prayed, the storm pa.s.sed by. The sun sank in golden splendour. Over hill and dale the glowing clouds floated in many lovely circles. Then came a wondrous vision to his longing eyes. In the clouds appeared a temple of gold surrounded by groves of emerald trees. The gold and marble gleamed with divine l.u.s.tre never seen by man. Slowly it sank to earth but did not disappear. It stood in beauty where before the temple of Balder had stood. Its broad walls were of silver, and each pillar seemed cut of deep blue steel. The altar was carved of a single precious stone. The ceiling seemed like the blue sky with twinkling golden stars, and there sat the G.o.ds of Valhal in all their splendour.

Frithiof gazed in wonder and in praise. "Now I know your answer, my father. I will build a new shrine to Balder the Good, more glorious than the one destroyed by fire. How glad I am to atone for my warlike act by peaceful deeds! The G.o.ds will pardon those who sue meekly for forgiveness. Now with joy can I look at the stars and welcome the Northern Lights. To-night I shall sleep upon my s.h.i.+eld and dream how heaven forgets the faults its mercy hath forgiven."

The Reconciliation

After seeing this vision of the lovely temple, Frithiof, greatly cheered, worked long to build one as beautiful as his vision. At last it was finished, a n.o.ble work. It stood high up on the mountain cliff, and its image was mirrored in the ocean beneath. About this glorious temple stretched a grove of n.o.ble trees, their branches green against the sky. Here could be heard the songs of birds, but no sound of discord. All was harmony.

As Frithiof stood admiring the temple, he saw twelve virgins clad in silver gauze, with roses in their hair, enter the temple and approach the altar of Balder. About the altar they danced lightly as breezes about a fountain, or elves amid the waving gra.s.s while dewdrops glisten there. As Frithiof looked, all hate and vengeance faded from his heart as ice melts from the cliff before the sun of springtime. All was quiet,--peace and joy seemed to possess his soul. He felt love for all nature and longed to be at peace with all G.o.d's creatures.

Then came into the temple the most high priest of Balder. Kind was his face, and Frithiof reverenced the n.o.ble man of peace. "Son Frithiof, welcome to this grove and temple. I have long expected thee. Weary with travel and longing for home, the strong man at last returns from his wanderings.

"Dost thou remember when thy heart was joyous as the birds are when summer night winds gently rock the fragrant blossoms? Then Balder was growing in thy pure soul. But always with the good Balder there grows up in every human soul his brother Hoder, the evil one, the child of night.

"No one can suffer for thy sins,--no one can atone for the living but themselves. One offering canst thou give, more dear to the G.o.ds than the smoke of victims. This is the sacrifice of thine own vengeance, the hate in thy untamed heart.

"Canst thou not forgive, O youth? Be reconciled with thyself and thy foes, and then will Balder be reconciled with thee.

"Thou hatest Bele's sons because pride of birth was theirs and they would not give thee Ingeborg, their sister. Strange it is but true, that no one is proud of his own merit, but only of his fortune. Art thou not proud of thy heroic deeds, of thy great strength? But who gave thee this strength? Is it thy merit or Odin's gift? Censure not another's pride, lest thine own be condemned. King Helge now is fallen."

"Fallen!" exclaimed Frithiof; "King Helge is fallen?"

"Yes, my Frithiof. Thou must know that while thou wert building this temple, Helge was far away, marching among the Finnish mountains. On a lonely crag of the mountains was an ancient shrine. He wished to enter, but the gate was closed and the key fast in the lock. Helge was angry, and, grasping the doorposts, he shook them with all his might.