See, there comes the mead-horn,
Gold the feet that bear it.
Warm your frozen members;
Skoal to Ingeborg!
XI.
FRIDTHJOF WITH ANGANTYR.
'Tis now to tell the story
How in his fir-wood hall,
Sat Angantyr, the hoary,
And drank with champions all.
He, joyous and light-hearted,
Looked out to where the sun
Behind the waves departed,
Just like a golden swan.
Outside the hall's commotion
Old Halvard watched,—indeed
Not only watched the ocean,
But also watched his mead.
His custom, seldom broken,
Was, quick the horn to drain,
And ere a word was spoken,
To thrust it in again.
But now he threw it; striding
Into the hall he spake:
"I see the billows riding
A ship, whose timbers shake;
I see some sailors dying
Already on the strand,
And two strong giants, trying
To bring the rest to land."
O'er waves no longer foaming,
The noble earl looked out:
"That is Ellide coming,
And Fridthjof too, no doubt;
His step, so firm and steady,
Bespeaks him Thorstein's son.
Such brow, and smile so ready,
In Northland there is none."
Then viking Atle sturdy
Sprang up at one swift bound;
Black-bearded berserk, bloody,
And fiercely looked around.
"Now, I will prove," he thunders,
"What rumor means by this,
That all blades Fridthjof sunders,
And never sues for peace."
And with the doughty viking,
His twelve best champions start,
And in the air sharp striking,
They brandish sword and dart.
They storm the strand, where by it
The weary dragon lay;
But Fridthjof, sitting nigh it,
Looks ready for the fray.