The boys admire in pleased surprise
The gleaming blue:
To lift the sword one vainly tries,
It needeth two.
The daughter scours the helmet clean,
Bright shall it be.
And blushes, in its silvery sheen
Her face to see.
At last he takes his shield so round.
A sun in blood;
"Hail! iron man, so strong and sound,
Thou peasant good!
Renown and power which nations wield
From thee they draw,
In war thou art thy country's shield,
In peace its law."
The assembly met, while sounding high
Were arms and shields,
In open thing, 'neath heaven's sky,
In fair green fields.
Upon the thing-stone Fridthjof stands,
And with him there
A little one with shining bands
Of golden hair.
Then rose the cry on every hand:
"Too small indeed
The king's son is to rule our land,
Our wars to lead."
But Fridthjof on his shield raised up
The little boy:
"Ye Norsemen, here behold your hope,
Your king, your joy.
"High Odin's race embodied here
In image see,
As much at home 'mid shield and spear,
As fish in sea.
"I swear my lance and sword to set
Round land and throne,
And with the father's coronet
To crown the son.