“This day for the last time do ye behold me,” he said; “for the last time my foot doth 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 with 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 plaints become not men; in maids they may be pardoned. For me the death song soundeth, not for thee. ’Tis I must hence, not thou! Take thou my realm and guard it well. Take Ingeborg as thy wife, and be a father to my infant son. Ever through life hath 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 cloven many a shield on sea and land; nor ever hath man seen my cheek turn pale. Victory hath been mine, and glory. One boon only have the gods denied me—to mount to Valhalla from the battle-field. Death by the sword is the death of heroes; to linger on,—the straw death,—never such will Ring live to endure!” 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 drain this, my country, thou Northland! Ye gods of Valhalla, all hail, all hail!”
KING RING’S Death
Silence reigned within the hall; none gave way to grief lest the dying man’s last moments should be saddened. Sinking back on his cushions, 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 All-Father. Great was the mourning 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.
Chapter XX
The Election to the Kingdom
“To the Ting! To the Ting!” The message flies o’er hill and vale; the people are summoned to elect their King. Champions try their swords, vassals 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 Ting-stone stood Frithiof, and at his side King Ring’s son, a fair child with golden hair.
“Too young is Ring’s heir,” was murmured through the multitude; “no chief is he to lead us into battle, or sit in judgment on the Ting-stone.”
But Frithiof placed the child upon his shield and held him high aloft, saying: “Northmen, behold your King, a vigorous offshoot of the fallen oak! Doth he not bear him well upon the shield? Hear now my vow: I swear to guard for him his Kingdom, till with his father’s circlet he shall one day here be crowned.” Then raising his eyes to heaven, he added: “Forsete, son of Balder, be my witness! O thou who judgest justly, strike me dead if e’er I break my word!”