The first; spring flowers by sunshine fed,
The earliest berries turning red,
The first of autumn's golden treasure,
He proffered her with eager pleasure.
********************
But quickly sped are childhood's days,—
There stands a youth whose ardent gaze
With pleading and with hope is laden,
And there, with budding charms, a maiden.
Young Fridthjof followed oft the chase,
Which led to many a fearful place;
With neither spear nor lance defended,
The wild bear's life he quickly ended.
When, struggling, met they breast to breast,
The hunter won, though hardly pressed,
And brought the bearskin home; such prizes,
Think you, a maiden e'er despises?
For woman values courage rare;
The brave alone deserves the fair,
Each one the other's grace completing,
As brow and helmet fitly meeting.
And when in winter evenings long,
By firelight reading, in a song,
Of fair abodes in radiant heaven
To every god and goddess given,
He thought: "Of gold is Ing'borg's hair,
A net for rose and lily fair:
Like Freyja's bounteous golden tresses,
A wheat-field which the breeze caresses.
Fair Idun's beauteous bosom beats
Beneath the green silk's safe retreats,—
I know a silk whose sheen encloses
Light; fairies two, with buds of roses.